Lohgun: The Badger of the North
by High Plains Drifter
Summary: A Wilding with no memory and Valyrian steel for claws earns the trust and love of the Starks. Watch as this seemingly ageless man helps both Ned during Robert's Rebellion and Rob in the War of the Five Kings. After the Prologue, which details a slightly different outcome at the Tower of Joy, chapters will alternate between revealing a bit of the past and showing a tad of the future
1. Prologue

_He dreamt an old dream, of three knight in white cloaks, and a tower long fallen, and Lyanna in her bed of blood._

_In the dream his friends rode with him, as they had in life. Proud Martyn Cassel, Jory's father; faithful Theo Wull; Ser Mark Ryswell, soft of speech and gentle of heart; the crannogman, Howland Reed; Lord Dustin on his great red stallion; _and, Lohgun, the Mad Badger from beyond the Wall._ Ned had known their faces as well as he knew his own once, but the years leech at a man's memories, even those he has vowed never to forget. In the dream they were only shadows, grey wraiths on horses made of mist._

_They were seven, facing three. In the dream as it had been in life. Yet these were no ordinary three. They waited before the round tower, the red mountains of Dorne at their backs, their white cloaks blowing in the wind. And these were no shadows, their faces burned clear, even now. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, had a sad smile on his lips. The hilt of the great sword Dawn poked over his right shoulder. Ser Oswell Whent was on one knee, sharpening his blade with a whetstone. Between them stood fierce old Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard._

Ned conversed briefly with the three gallant knights. They refused to bend their knees and depart from the old order, left destroyed forever by blood and death at the Trident and King's Landing. _"We swore a vow," explained old Ser Gerold._

_Ned's wraiths moved up beside him, with shadow swords in hand. They were seven against three._

"_And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light._

"No," Lohgun snarled, furor mounting in his voice. "Now it ends, bub!" The wraiths and the shining knights from the Age of Heroes rushed together in steel and violence. Blades crashed on blades or scrapped over armor. The shadows grunted, swore, and shouted. But Ned only heard Lyanna's cry across a blood streaked sky, "_Eddard!_"

He dodged under Arthur Dayne's powerful two handed swing, lashing out one handed with Ice to cut through links of mail and leave a thin red line across the Sword of Morning's side. Yet the powerful blow connected, crushing the shield and breaking the arm of Theo Wull, who'd played with him as a child in the crypts below Winterfell. The momentum of both brutal strokes swept the two combatants, one still barely a teen and the other a full man at eight and twenty, apart.

"Hells' spawn!" cried the Black Bat of Harrenhal, finding that Lohgun fought not with a sword but six deadly daggers, each one sharp as Valyrian steel. The air filled with the incessant tink of Ser Oswell's rapid parries as the Mad Badger drove relentlessly forward, heedless of the danger and pain, to come to arm's length with the Kingsguard so he could disembowel him. Ser Oswell hinted left but spun right, turning completely around, his white cloak shredded by Lohgun's claws. But the move put him just to the side the wildling and his long sword bit dip into the hairy man's neck, dropping him to the grassy sward, vast gushes of scarlet staining the green.

Ice rang off Dawn once, twice, thrice, then movement to Eddard's periphery drew the attention of the finest Knight in the Seven Kingdoms toward other danger. Howland Reed poked at Arthur Dayne's side with the three prongs of his trident, trying to entangle the blade forged from a fallen star. But to no avail, for the Kingsguard handled his mighty two handed sword with the swiftness of of a stiletto. Two quick slashes and the little crannogman held nothing more than a broken stick. A third slash removed the forearm holding the useless staff. Eddard cried "Havoc," and charged to avenge his bonny, joking friend.

William shouted in triumph. Gerold Hightower's sword stuck a moment in Mark Ryswell's chest, just a fraction second long enough for the Master of Barrowton to skewer the old Ser's kidney. The pain so intense the Lord Commander dropped his own blade and fell to the well churned ground.

Oswell Whent mimicked the cry as Martyn met his end, stubbornly standing over the fallen form of Lohgun, whom he had tried to teach the art of the blade until the Mad Badger's more innate talents had surfaced. Dear Theo launched himself with only one sound arm at the Black Bat. He lasted only as long as it took William Dustin to join the fray before a mortal slash to his thigh drained out his life's blood in twenty rapid beats of crimson.

All Eddard's youthful speed, strength from years of constant practice, and the cold cunning he had learned in the application of death the last six months proved helpless against the Sword of Morning. Dawn beat down Ice again and again, nicking and cutting the Lord of Winterfell again and again. Sweat dampened Eddard's eyes, his arms burned from the effort of keeping his sword up, his chest heaved desperate for more air. Ashara's brother feinted, feinted, and finally swung a hammer stroke of a blow which Ice barely met, only to fly from his grip. "Noooooo!" Eddard shouted, the final flash of Dawn filling his eyes.

"Nooooooo!" screamed Lohgun, flying through the air. Half way to his target, Arthur Dayne proved his unparalleled swordsmanship and altered the trajectory of Dawn. The Mad Badger pushed out a clawed hand to intercept the strike. Crash! The star forged metal slashed clean through the tip of one claw and broke a second in half. Snickt! The three daggers protruding from the back of Lohgun's other hand punctured through the steel breastplate of the Sword of Dawn and tore apart his magnificent heart.

Eddard shuddered. The wildling howled, raising high the hand with shattered claws as an offering to the old Gods. Lord Dustin knelt over the unconscious body of the now maimed Howland Reed, bandaging the stump of the little crannogman's arm. The three lived. He rose to his feet and staggered into the Tower of Joy. Lyanna lived too, but for only a few hours more.

"_Lord Eddard," Lyanna called again._

"_I promise," he whispered. "Lya, I promise …"_

"_Lord Eddard," a man echoed from the dark._

_Groaning, Eddard Stark opened his eyes. Moonlight streamed through the tall windows of the Tower of the Hand._


	2. BACK 1 - Scene 1

The guest horn blew from above the North Gate. From a mile away Lohgun had heard the boisterous sounds of a feast in the Great Hall of Winterfell. He'd be surprised if the horn cut much through the din of drunken singing, shouted conversation, and the hard cracking of jaws trying to break bones to suck the sweet marrow from within. Regardless, the badger stitched into the banner floating above him and his twenty hard men riding smelly garrons guaranteed a raised portcullis as the Lord of Tumbledown Tower came to visit his liege and his liege's lord, the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

The double file line of small horses snaked between the Guards Hall and the Amory to enter the courtyard. They passed beneath the covered walkway running between the Armory and the Great Keep. The squat, hairy man dismounted, handing the reins of his mount to his squire. Lohgun pointed his men towards the stables; then, seeing them on their way he slipped quietly through the Great Keep and into the inner yard. He received smiling nods from the few guards drawing duty on this night of royal festivity. The yard was empty of even the ever present dogs, all smart enough to know the feast offered a rare opportunity to scavenge treats. A sole sentry stood high on the battlements, sunk deep into his cloak for warmth. Even in summer, cold was ever present in the North. Lohgun smiled, "Winter is coming," he whispered, repeating his friend's family motto.

"Ho," a voice called out to him. Lohgun stopped and looked up, surprised he had not noted the hidden presence. A halfman sat on the ledge above the door to the Great Hall, a living gargoyle amongst the plenitude of stone carved ones. The Lannister offspring grinned down at him. "Are you the Badger?"

Lohgun was not the only man in the North to wear a cloak stitched together from the black, grey, and white striped pelts of the common mustelid beast. The coats were thick and oily enough to reply rain and snow, while keeping a man warm. But only one man had been given the name as an epithet and kept it, defining himself by it. "I am," Lohgun answered. He stared up at the little man he'd only heard of by third hand and rumors. "Why are you up there and not at the feast?"

"Too hot, too noisy, and I'd drunk too much wine," the scion of Casterly Rock and brother-in-law to the King told him. "I learned long ago that it is inconsiderate to vomit in front of my sister's husband, unless he happens to go first. Such are the privileges of royalty. Might I take a closer look at you?"

The Lord of Tumbledown Tower sighed quietly. He spent most of his time roaming the Wolfswood avoiding those who did not already know him. Such was the privilege of a freak, to be feared or held suspect on first sight. At least this one carried his own weird burden laid upon him by the Old Gods, and Eddard would not appreciate him making a scene with such an august visitor. Lohgun nodded slowly. "Shall I come to you?"

The little man blew a rude snort of air. He thrust himself off the ledge and tumbled like an acrobatic mummer through the empty air to land in a roll on the dirt which ended with him standing directly in front of a startled, backward stepping Lohgun.

The halfman dusted himself off, while chuckling. "Hope I didn't scare you."

Lohgun grinned at the audacity and nodded a no. "Most are less than they appear," he grunted and stuck out a gloved hand. "Lohgun."

The dwarf tilted his head to stare up at the hairy man through mismatched eyes. "Tyrion Lannister," and extended his own smaller one. As they shook, the Queen's brother peered openly at the back of Lohgun's leather glove. "Those three holes, is that where?"

Snickt!

"Oh my yes!" Tyrion released his grip, but did not draw his hand back. He gently poked an index finger along the three mismatched blades poking from the back of the Badger's right hand: the one closest to Lohgun's torso was a full twelve inches of sheathed metal, the middle one lacked armor over only the last two inches, and the one farthest was six inches of metal on the bottom and six inches of bone at the top. The halfman tapped at one of the joins between steel and bone. "Dawn did this, no?"

"Yes," he said remembering the pain. "Eddard made me return the sword to Starfall."

"A pity. Though no doubt the Dayne's appreciated the gesture."

'Ashara didn't,' the Badger thought as his mind recreated the scent of her, intoxicating. Many men had yearned for her, Lohgun among them, but only one had been granted her maidenhead.

"And the bone grew back, afterward?"

"In less than a week."

"How peculiar?" Lannister's offsetting eyes narrowed in concentration as he pondered the possibilities of the Badger's response. "Have the bone claws ever broken again?"

"Frequently," Lohgun tersely replied, the conversation beginning to annoy him.

"And uhm, has, uh, any other sword been able to damage the steel parts?" the halfman inquired; a thirst for knowledge outweighing any concern over the politeness of the question.

"Ice, a few times," he declared, patience nearly at an end.

"Valyrian steel, interesting."

A canine snarl rippled across the inner yard. Snickt! The Badger spun impossibly fast towards the Great Hall, a primal growl of his own bursting from hairy chest, throat, and face.


	3. FORWARD 1 - Scene 1

Through the din of the overflowing Great Hall, Lohgun barely heard the wolfish growl as he popped his claws. Snickt! Immediately a friendly hand snapped out to restrain one of his flexed forearms. Then suddenly William Dustin's cautioning hand shot into the air to deflect the trenchers, goblets, and silverware flying off the table the Greatjon had just kicked over in a violent fit part test, part tantrum, and part bully.

"Gods damn you, boy!" the Lord Umber roared, snatching out his great two handed sword as easily as a squire unsheathes his dagger.

Lohgun, the other lords feasting in Winterfell's Great Hall, and many of the nearby select bannermen; Umbers and Boltons, Cerwyns and Hornwoods, Tallharts and Glovers, surged to their feet, all instinctively grabbing for steel. The scent of adrenaline charged sweat filled Lohgun's nose and he felt the slim barrier separating the Lord of Tumbledown Tower from the Badger start to dissolve. Still, a calm part of Lohgun's mind watched young Robb hardly stir at the whirlwind of violence threatening to encompass him, but simply murmur a command to his new constant companion. And in a blink Grey Wind bowled the Greatjon on to his back, leaving the hulk of a man weaponless and shy a few fingers.

The stunning reversal to Lord Umber's outburst silenced the tension filled hall so quickly that Robb's subsequent words, pitched so softly you'd almost think Roose Bolton was speaking, easily carried over every table and even up to the rafters. "My lord father taught me that it was death to bare steel against your liege lord, but doubtless Lord Umber you only meant to cut my meat."

A few nervous chortles filled the air at their Lord's heir's witty words, while all watched to see how the bull chested man would react as he rolled to his feet, sucking at two bloody stumps protruding from his left hand. The whole time the Greatjon kept one eye on Grey Wind, who now sat placidly, licking the remnants of a sausage sized meal off his muzzle, and the other eye on the calm, commanding face of the current Stark in Winterfell. The hint of a smile started to show at the edges of the Greatjon's pursed, sucking mouth and then to everyone's surprise the huge man removed the gory stubs to bellow in a laughing voice, "Your meat is bloody tough!"

The sparse sound of anxious titters was quickly blown away as the entire Great Hall resounded to peels of merriment at the Greatjon's predicament and jolly acceptance of having his challenge to Robb's authority slapped down so neatly and painfully. The men sat back down on the benches and calls promptly went out to the serving girls for more ale and mead. The Lord Umber somewhere found a mug still standing and lifted it high, near screaming, "The young wolf!" Echoes of the "The young wolf!" soon reverberated from throats not already guzzling Winterfell's liquid bounty.

"Just watch," William shouted in Lohgun's ear. "That great ox is gonna become Robb's greatest champion. Ned'd be proud."

"And Cat," Lohgun replied, causing the Lord of Barrowton to bob his head in agreement.

"The boy's shown balls calling the North, and big hairy ones at that. But how will he do once we march? There won't be any turning back then, will there?" William asked.

"He's a Stark. And why are asking me?" Lohgun growled back.

"Ah, you can take the Mad Badger south of the Wall, but he always stays wary," William snickered.

The Lord of Tumbledown Tower didn't answer, just stared hard at his friend.

The Lord of Barrowton returned a steady gaze until he finally snorted in exasperation at Lohgun's icy demeanor. "I've only been here two days, but I'm not blind. Who are the last two to leave Robb after any council? Who greets Robb before he's broken his fast? Who follows him around all day like a shadow? For all I know, who puts him to bed at night? Maester Luwin and you. So don't play the maiden with me, we've known each other and Ned too long. Tell me!"

Lohgun leaned close to William's ear. "He worries that no matter what we do, Ned'll get his head chopped."

"Tis true. And if we march, so might all of us, either in battle or if we lose then on the block," Lord Dustin said grimly.

"Luckily, he's too young and been busy playing the Stark at Winterfell, dealing with all you piss-ant lordlings, that he hasn't had time to think of it yet. But he will, he's clever enough and it'll scare him hard."

William Dustin slapped the Badger on the back. "That's why I sent my levies ahead to Moat Caillin and came here myself, to help the boy. Ned'd have expected it of us."

"Joy," saluted Lohgun.

"Joy," answered William with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

"Hodor," called out the giant man boy, gathering many an eye in the Great Hall to where Bran Stark sat uncomfortably at table. The simple servant picked Bran up, his slender legs dangling useless beneath his body, and placed the boy in the large wicker basket strapped to Hodor's thick chest.

"There's one I'd help if I could," said Lord Dustin, hiding the depth of his feelings behind his hard northern exterior.

Lohgun lifted a mug and took a large swallow of ale before answering, "So would I bub, so would I."


	4. BACK 1 - Scene 2

With the rasping challenge to the unseen hound hardly out of the Badger's throat, a new voice called out. "Heel, Ghost, heel!"

A dog shaped mass, barely visible in night air except for it's two bright red eyes, pivoted and seemingly slunk back to become a part of the Great Hall's outside wall.

The Lord of Tumbledown Tower cleared his throat before calling out, "Jon?"

"Lohgun?" the young teen gurgled with happy surprise.

"Yes, it's me boy, and the Lord Lannister too," he answered.

"Please, tis Tyrion," said the halfman.

"I'm glad you're here," the boy announced, forgetting the Lannister's diminutive presence as he strode from the shadow of the building into the yard to wrap Lohgun in an emotion laden embrace.

"Easy, lad," he whispered into Jon Snow's ear sensing the youth's tension, all the while rustling the hair on the boy's head with one hand. "Look at you!" he proclaimed. "Your taller than me now. Near a man grown."

"I'll dare vouch for the fact that height does not always make the man," said the dwarf in a wry tone.

The halfman's jape made both Lohgun and Jon grin at each other. "It's good to see you smile." Lohgun raised his head to smell the air and then nodded toward the sounds of the feast, "Was anything amiss in there? Other than you drinking too much summerwine?"

"Yes, no. Well … Uncle Benjen …" Jon sniffled to blink back a tear. "He doesn't want me to go to the Wall."

"Oh ho! It's been too long between visits. You want to join the Watch now."

"The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon Snow," announced the Queen's brother.

The youth gritted his teeth. "The very words my uncle spoke. But what would you know about it Lannister?" he challenged.

"Enough, from my books. Enough to know I'd like a chance to piss off the top of it and then scurry home to my warm bed in King's Landing, mulled wine in one hand and a saucy wench in the other. But when a man takes the black, there's never any scurrying home again."

"And never a warm bed," added Lohgun in agreement. "Tyrion here and your uncle have the right of it." The Badger's eyes nearly glazed over as he summoned memories from when he was barely more than an animal. "I lived three years at Castle Black before the Lord Commander sent me to Winterfell. There is little of … joy … should be found at that place." A generous smile leapt up as he continued, "You'll always be welcome to live at Tumbledown; and surely Barrowton or Greywater Watch too, if life here weighs on you so."

Jon sighed heavily, visibly releasing some of the tension built up within. "Thank you Lohgun, I'll think on it. Truly I will."

"Good lad."

"Frankly all the North is far too dreary and cold for me," interjected the halfman. "So better yet, become a Hedge Knight and wander the south. Living tournament to tournament, winning prizes, wooing the ladies, with your fearsome wolf, what did you call him? Ghost? … at your side. If you're any good with lance or blade, you'll be bloody famous in no time."

"Yes, tell us more of Ghost and his siblings that you and your brothers found with Ned," Lohgun requested. "The rumors about them run wild in the Wolfswood."

"They're direwolves. Ghost, come here. Come on, boy. That's it." The red eyed beast, his back not much higher than Jon Snow's knee, padded up at his master's, his brother's call. "See?"

"I remember direwolves as bigger," Lohgun announced with amused skepticism.

"He's still just a pup."

"Ah, that must be it then."

* * *

At last satisfied that the fires of whatever bothered young Jon were banking, Lohgun declared he was past due to greet both Ned and Robert. Neither Jon nor the halfman evinced any interest in returning the Great Hall, so the Lord of Tumbledown Tower entered the noisy, smoky feast alone; always alone, even in a crowded room. He scooped up a mug from the tray of a passing serving wench, being rewarded with an earthy grin from her for where his other hand had forayed. He took a fast gulp, all the while dodging servants, squires, and men-at-arms as he kept moving forward toward the raised dais, using all his senses to read its occupants.

One look at the open book that was Ned revealed his friend had a giant stick about something lodged deep in his ass; same old Ned. But Robert's appearance stunned Lohgun. The fat man he saw looked nothing like the Robert he'd last seen nine years earlier on Pyke. The King, shoveling food in his gorge and washing it down with a flagon of wine, gave him the impression of a pig being fattened for slaughter. And Catelyn, long auburn hair swept alluringly up off her slender neck and shoulders to form a tight ball out of which gorgeous curls burst in an explosion of wonderful red, sat proper as ever beside the King, carefully hiding the strength and softness of her magnificent soul. The Badger smiled in amusement, gazing next at the children fidgeting at either end of the great table, blatantly in Rickon's case and Sansa so subtly. Of the Stark children, only fierce Arya looked like Ned. And of the Baratheons? Whom he'd never laid eyes on before … not a smidge of Robert, all sharing the same Lannister look as their uncle Jaime; standing stiffly on guard behind Robert's seat.

All those thoughts and impressions Lohgun took in with merely a few glances. He blinked several times as the table occupants were bleached to featureless figures from the light flaring off the radiant golden haired sun sitting between Ned and Robert. "Cersei," he whispered. He'd heard rumors of her beauty since Harrenhall, which ironically she had not attended but everything else had begun. As he stared at her, Lohgun felt dried, brittle autumn leaves start to rattle in a warm breeze down the dusty, jagged length of his mind.

_(emma)_

"Lohgun!"

_(emma)_

"Badger!"

_(emma)_

"BADGER!"

Lohgun shook his head, the scales falling from his eyes. He stood at the foot of the dais obviously staring up at the Queen.

"Have you grown deaf!" shouted the King.

A jaunty grin slipped on the Badger's face. "And why not, you've grown fat, ya poxy whore monger!"

Robert wheezed with laughter, a hunk of something spitting into the air. "Fuck you, Wildling," he shouted out with vast amusement.

Lohgun responded by raising the middle finger of his right hand, then immediately popped out the broken eight inch long claw behind it.

"Hahahahahaha!" roared the King in mirth. Robert picked up the carcass of a half-eaten chicken and flung it at the Lord of Tumbledown Tower. The two other claws of his right hand sprung out as well and the Badger neatly skewered the incoming missile.

Lohgun's grin grew even broader and slyer. "Thanks fat man, I am a bit hungry," he announced, then bit vigorously into the bird's remains releasing juice and grease to smear over his face and enormous side burns. The King howled in appreciation and most of the children tittered at the short, stout man's exaggerated display.

"So this uncouth beast is _the_ famous Badger you talk about?" the Queen proclaimed with icy disdain. "I am not surprised _he_ is a friend of _yours_."

"Oh Cersei," Robert rumbled a bit grumpily, having his fun interrupted.

"Your grace, I find word of your beauty rings true. You are prettier than your brother Jaime, and that's saying something. A pleasure!" With that Lohgun swept into a dramatic bow, whirlwinding his right arm around to come even with his waist, and thus launching the remains of the chicken off his claws and high into the air of Winterfell's Great Hall.

The Queen's lips slammed into a thin, hard line. She stood quickly, pushing her chair back so hard it tumbled over, causing her white cloaked brother to hop aside. Robert, Ned, and young Robb all politely rose from their chairs in response to Cersei. "A lovely feast Lord and Lady Stark," she announced with no hint of kindness. "If you will pardon me?" And off she stalked without waiting for an answer.

Robert looked down at Lohgun, amusement and pleasure easy to see on his open face. "Oh, you've put your foot in it now," he chortled. He shrugged his shoulders. "So that's my wife."

"A mite frosty seems."

The King bellowed in delight at the slight to his wife, pounding a fist on the table so hard it threatened to split asunder. "You have no idea Badger. No idea!"

Ned returned to his seat, face taut and eyes hooded to make stark his displeasure.


	5. FORWARD 1 - Scene 2

Bran Stark sat on Dancer beneath the eaves of Winterfell's East Gatehouse, strapped to the saddle made two months earlier in accordance with Tyrion Lannister's clever design. And now the might of the North, led by Bran's brother Robb, surged forth on a cold, windy December dawn to contest the designs laid by Lannisters on Winterfell's Lord, Eddard Stark. Two days earlier Rickard Karstark, the furthest away of the northern lords, finally arrived, marching the two thousand men his host into the Winter Town. Whether heeding the Badger's advice to "get there firstest with the mostest," or simply driven by his own urgency to free his father, Robb allowed the Karstark bannermen only a sole day's rest before unleashing the gathered army at the South.

Lohgun and his squire sat their garrons in the Winterfell yard alongside the massive destriers of Lord William Dustin and his squire, a distant Ryswell cousin of his deceased first wife. The three score mounted men the Lord of Tumbledown Tower had brought to the mustering were most likely already out on the Kingsroad. He would join them later, after making final reassurances with Ned's sadly crippled boy. But first he waited his turn as Robb and Jon made their goodbyes to Bran. The strong breeze did not stop Lohgun's keen ears from overhearing their words.

"You are _the_ Stark of Winterfell now. There must always be a Stark here, Father would expect it," said Robb, clad in grey chainmail, leather, and cloak.

"I know," the boy answered sullenly.

"Of course you do," his not-half-brother said with a comforting smile. "And take care of Rickon too," Jon added.

"Listen to Master Luwin most of all," Robb then continued, repeating things he'd told Bran many times over the last week. "You _may_ rule, but he knows _how_ to rule. But don't worry, before you know it Mother will return; and, then we'll come back with father soon after."

"Rickon says no one ever comes back," Bran complained.

"Stuff and nonsense. He's three. What does he know? We'll be back," Jon cheerfully answered the accusation.

"Promise?"

"Yes," Robb said solemnly, before cracking a small grin. "Now let's see a brave face, Bran. I must put one on too, or else the likes of the Greatjon and Roose Bolton will soon think different about following me."

"Oh Robb," the boy smiled, "You'll make a gallant knight."

First Robb, then Jon too, leaned forward to clap Bran on the shoulder before turning their chargers and trotting out of the gate. Grey Wind and Ghost immediately followed, sticking close to their two legged brothers. A company of mounted Winterfell guardsmen, including Theon Greyjoy amongst them, diligently put spurs to their horses to race after the pair. A roar soon went up as the nearest part of the host, waiting with ill-patience to eagerly join the march on the Kingsroad, spotted their leader riding under the rippling white banner of House Stark.

* * *

Lohgun and William rode their horses toward Bran and the Gatehouse at a slow walk to give him time to dry his tears. Nevertheless they arrived across the heavily churned and dung dimpled yard as the boy honked his nose a last time into the edge of his fur lined cloak. Bran turned red faced at being caught unmanned.

"No shame in shedding tears," Lord Dustin said kindly.

"We both wept with your lord Father at Lyanna's deathbed," the Badger added.

"You did not!" William barked indignantly. "I cried. You howled, a damn lot. And your breath stank!"

Lohgun exaggeratedly lifted his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders to say, 'so what?'

Bran's sniffle turned into a giggle.

"We'll do our best to protect Robb and Jon," William promised.

"And rescue your father too if we can," the Badger said, turning serious.

"I know you will, you are father's oldest friends," Bran answered softly. "But … ?"

"What is it, son?" asked Lord Dustin, prompting the boy to continue.

"Osha, she, … she says Robb's marching the wrong way."

"The wilding woman?" William queried. Bran nodded yes.

Lohgun needed no such assurance as to her identity. He knew exactly who Osha was, having slept three nights with her and been stabbed twice for the effort. He'd made his interest in the frail clear during a dinner in the Great Hall she'd helped serve. How she'd used her chains to make any too friendly hands pay for it attracted his attention and admiration. When she didn't spit in his face, Lohgun had followed Free Folk tradition and slipped into the Kitchen that night to steal her back to his room. At the start of their rutting she'd pulled out a sliver of steel she'd secreted in her clothes and stabbed him in the chest, saying "Rumor is the Badger never dies." When she finished watching the wound disappear, Osha had excitedly flung herself on him and ridden his member half the night, eventually claiming after she tiredly dismounted, "that won't die either." The next night she stabbed him again. "Just making sure," she said before sliding her wetness down him. At rest between bouts, she spoke of her flight south of the wall to escape blue eyed wights and white walkers lurking in the shadows.

"Things, dark things, are growing north of the Wall she says. The wildlings are scared and the old Gods can't help. It's why she fled. I … I think it's why Uncle Benjen's gone missing too. I … I have dreams about a three eyed crow," an anxious and near breathless Bran gushed.

"I wouldn't belie …" started William.

"Honor requires us," Lohgun cut in quickly, "to ride to your father's defense. When that's done we'll come back north, and then I promise you Bran I'll go beyond the Wall to see what there is to learn. Is that all right with you little man?"

Bran nodded.

"Good. 'Til then, stay close to Summer. No one'll fuck with a boy and his wolf. Here?" the Lord of Tumbledown Tower suggested.

Bran giggled at the Badger's casual use of profanity. "Good," Lohgun replied in answer to the boy's amusement. "C'mon Will, let's go catch up with Robb and Jon." And off the Badger's horse clattered out of the Gatehouse into the swarm of marching men beyond.

Lord Dustin knuckled a hand's fingers to his brow as way of saying goodbye and followed his friend.


	6. BACK 1 - Scene 3

The blacksmith lifted some canvas tarps in the corner of his modest office on the second floor of the armory and reached a hand underneath in search of the hidden treasure.

"Not the trusting type anymore Mikken?" the Lord of Tumbledown Tower asked.

The dour man grimaced. "Too many strangers about. Too many Southerners," he muttered.

"The King?!" Lohgun teased. "And all the other of Lord Stark's honored guests?"

Mikken's grimace puckered even further, until he said, "Ahhh, here it is Badger, uh … I mean milord." From the less than secretive stash, the burly blacksmith pulled out two feet of slightly curved steel attached to an unadorned pommel.

The Badger snorted in amusement that a man who'd known him for twenty years would stumble to call him a poncy 'lord.' He thrust out a demanding hand, "Let me hold her."

Now it was the smith's turn to snort. "A good piece of steel is a _him_, not a _her_. _He's_ made for killing. But …" he drawled with an evil grin, "… I suppose a dainty, bowed blade like yours _is_ rather girlish."

The Badger accepted the sword with an approving hoot at Mikken's insult. "Small blade for a small man," he replied cheerfully, and then thrust his groin out with a grunt. "Gets the job done, or at least they don't complain when I leave."

A laugh rumbled in Mikken's powerful chest and belly at the short, stout man's antics.

"Ouch," Lohgun whispered. A dot of blood swelled out on his thumb where he'd tested the newly sharpened blade.

"Sharp enough for ya, Badger?"

"A'yup. Nobody treats her like you do Mikken."

"O'course not. I made him, didn't I? And four afore that you fuukin, picky little shit. Too long, no he don't curve enough, oh the weight ain't peeeerfect, the pommel haaaas ta be o'weirwood. And like I had nuttin' better to do with my time, as how I'm the Master of Winterfell's armory," ranted the blacksmith.

Lohgun slide the blade into the sheath at his side, all the while smiling wide in appreciation at Mikken's well-rehearsed screed. The Badger patted his belly, "Thinking of all your hard, hard work has made me hungry. Think I'll grab a bite." He flipped a quick hand salute and turned into the maze of the armory's second level.

Lohgun soon came to the archway for the covered bridge over to the Great Keep. His nose immediately detected the strong scent of wolf. Entering the bridge, he saw Ghost and Nymeria docilely sitting near Arya and Jon, who watched the courtyard below through the bridge's open window. He watched as at first the direwolves' ears perked up with his appearance, and then the pair decided to come investigate him. They loped up quickly and immediately started mouthing at his badger fur cape. The Lord of Tumbledown Tower tried to tug the edges of the cape from their mouths, but they only took it as incentive to play further.

"Ghost!" Jon Snow called.

"Nymeria," Arya said somewhat abashedly.

The direwolves released their grips and moved back toward their master and mistress. Both children gave him friendly smiles at his approach and then returned to looking out the window.

"What goes?" Lohgun inquired, joining them at their perch.

"The prince is giving Ser Rodrik a hard time about sparring again with Robb," Arya relayed.

"Joffrey's being a little shit," Jon intoned.

"What are you suggesting?" Ser Rodrik asked.

"Cold steel," the Prince demanded.

"Agreed," shouted Robb

Winterfell's Master-at-Arms rubbed the huge whiskers on the side of his face. "Too dangerous. I'll allow tourney swords.

Sandor Clegane moved his bulk in front of the slender, blond haired son of the King. "Here is your Prince. By what right do you tell him anything, _ser_?"

"As the knight of Winterfell charged by Lord Stark to train his heirs in the art of war," Ser Rodrik replied confidently.

"You train them to be women then?" the burn faced man taunted.

"To be knights!" cried Robb, defending the honor of his teacher.

"Bah," Clegane sneered.

"They will use steel when _I _say they may use steel," Ser Rodrik announced forcefully.

Prince Joffrey shrugged, "Come see me then Stark when your mommy lets you." Laughter erupted out of the Lannister men gathered in the courtyard. Theon Greyjoy and Cley Cerwyn grabbed Robb hard to keep him from giving chase after the Prince.

"Bully," Arya declared.

'Stupid little shit," Jon muttered.

The Lannister entourage started to leave towards the Great Keep. "Come along Tommen," Prince Joffrey called. "Playtime is over. Leave the children to their baby rattles;" words that caused a storm of laughter out of the boy's cronies and bodyguards.

Lohgun watched Robb struggle anew in Theon and Cley's grasp. He scowled at the sprog's insults to Ned's family and House. The badger fur cloak fell to the floor of the covered bridge. "Excuse me," he muttered, gently nudging Jon and Arya aside. The Badger put a foot on the sill of the open window and launched himself into space.

THUNK!

The unexpected suddenness of his landing momentarily stunned the score or so of swaggering Lannister cocks passing close to the impact point. The pause allowed Lohgun to spring back into a stand, regardless that a turned ankle barked at him. The nearest lackey took his renewed movement as a threat and started to pull out a blade. The Badger answered by planting a boot in the guard's chest, lifting the Westerlander in the air to sprawl a good ten feet away.

The Prince laughed, delighted at another's humiliation; but the Hound sidled in front of his charge, growling warily, "What do you want Badger!?"

"I have a wager for the prince. One even Ser Rodrik might like?" Lohgun smirked.

"Back, Dog," the boy commanded. A superior smile creased his smug face. "What can you possibly offer that I mighty want?"

"Why the chance to meet Robb Start with bare steel? Unless you're too afraid?"

Vanity wounded, the prince yelped, "I'm not afraid!"

"No, I don't suppose _you_ are, more's the pity. But you're certainly stupid!"

Prince Joffrey gasped, then stuttered, "Kill him Dog, kill him!" The Hound strode forcefully ahead, while over a dozen Lannister hands reached for their swords.

Snickt!

The Badger surged forward even quicker; claws extended and dancing mere inches in front of Clegane's startled, scarred face.

"Hold!" Ser Rodrik's stentorian bellow rose above the din of the courtyard. "There'll be no brawling in Winterfell today! I'll have the head off the first man to swing!" The tension rested on a razor's edge, waiting for the smallest sign to unleash an explosion of violence, until the Master-at-arms bustled his way into the crowd, none too gently shoving men out of the way in his haste. "Lord Lohgun!" he declared, filling the title with shame and disappointment.

The Badger retracted his claws. The old knight gave him a short nod of approval.

"Clegane, take that hand off the pommel." Ser Rodrik commanded. The Hound glared down at the Master-at-arms. "Off!" the old knight repeated, refusing to be intimidated. Reluctantly the burn faced man complied. "Better," Ser Rodrik said with evident skepticism. "Now, Lord Lohgun, you said you had a wager. I think we might all be interested to hear it," he said with a sigh to show he felt no such thing.

Lohgun smirked. "Yes, a proposal for our royal guest." And the Lord of Tumbledown Tower sketched an overly elaborate bow towards the prince to mock him. "Allow a duel between me and your Hound here. If he wins, you spar with Robb using cold steel. If I win, you spar with tourney blades. Sound interesting?"

Blood thirst and cold calculation played openly over the boy's face. "Uhm, your duel. Would it be to first blood? Or third? Or maybe even 'til the shout of 'yield?'" Prince Joffrey's face grew more animated and excited as he spoke.

"Noooooo!" the Badger scoffed, raising a hand. Snickt! The middle claw popped up. "To the death," he whispered cold as ice.

Prince Joffrey's eyes shot wide in surprise.

Ser Rodrik's eyes bulged too and then he quickly started stroking his huge muttonchops so as to hide from the prince the smile breaking out on the old knight's face. Winterfell's Master-at-arms clearly had no doubt who would win such a battle and found great pleasure in contemplating it. "Ahh, uhh, I seeee," Ser Rodrik mumbled. "Most unusual. Most unusual. What, ahhh, say _you_, my Prince?"

"Come Hound! I want nothing more to do with this filthy animal, nor his ill-mannered japes!" The petulant boy gathered his precious dignity and entourage then walked away in a huff.

The Stark bannermen quickly replaced the Lannister ones crowded around the Badger. More than a few of them pounded on Lohgun's shoulders at his pluck in standing up to the snobbish heir.

"You've made an enemy there," Ser Rodrik announced.

"The boy makes them wherever he walks," the Badger countered with disdain.

Robb, Theon, and Cley chuckled their amusement. From up above on the covered bridge Jon and Arya whistled and clapped their approval. And Ghost and Nymeria howled it as well.

* * *

"You shamed me before the King, Lohgun," Ned said seriously.

"Robert wasn't even there," the Badger protested weakly.

The seriousness of the situation became evident when he answered the mid-day summons to Ned's apartment and Lohgun found Lady Catelyn ensconced there as well. The red headed women had always filled him with an irrational unease; and he'd long suspected his presence had the same effect on her, for she always chose the harshest possible motive when judging his actions. Most likely because she knew he owned the identity of Jon Snow's mother. Her begrudging treatment of the lad through the years obvious to all save Ned, who refused to release Lohgun, William, and Howland from their vows. Yet another cost from Robert's Rebellion. 'Joy,' he thought ironically.

"No," Ned agreed coolly. "But neither can he quietly stand for the insult given to his son, and thus to his wife, from inside _my_ walls by _my_ bannerman."

"And what of this royal guest's insults to your son, to your Master-at-arms, inside your House?" the Badger countered.

"He is only a boy," Ned sighed, looking sad and tired.

"A boy with bad blood," Lohgun pressed.

"And you've caused nothing but bad blood with the Queen and her family since very night you came here," Catelyn proclaimed hotly.

Lohgun shook his head, "Not so. Tyrion Lannister agrees with me. We've shared many a cup these past weeks. And he would agree with my assessment."

Catelyn rolled her eyes at mention of the Imp.

"Nevertheless," Ned ground on. "It is for the best if you took your leave of Winterfell until Robert and the Queen depart for King's Landing."

Looking in Ned's deep grey eyes, Lohgun knew defeat was inevitable, but decided to see if he could shake some good out of it. "Alright, I'll leave by dark; on my honor. I would never want to be the cause of a break between you and Robert. Even if the fat bastard's not quite the man he once was."

Ned slowly nodded his head in agreement and understanding.

"But I do seek a boon of you, Lord Stark," he thrust daringly.

"What do you want, Badger?" the Lord of Winterfell asked with sly smile.

"Send Jon Snow to Tumbledown Tower with me."

"Why?" asked Ned curiously.

"Why? snapped Catelyn suspiciously.

"The lad talks of joining Benjen on the Wall; and that right soon. Did you know that?"

Both the Lord and Lady shook their heads no.

"The Watch is honorable," Lohgun continued. "But not the place for a boy who's barely seen his fourteenth name day. I spent three years there, I know. Let Jon live with me, away from Winterfell, to be something other than Ned Stark's bastard. Give him a chance to choose his own path. Please?" the Badger begged.

Though she hid it well, a glint of interest showed in Catelyn's eyes. Ned sat quietly, thinking it through. At last he asked, "Have you spoken of this too him?"

"Yes. He's shown some interest, but is unsure. Ben thinks it a good idea, and has told Jon he could always become a brother in a year or two or three. Jon will come with me if you ask him to, Ned. Please?"

The Lord of Winterfell nodded his head in agreement. "Let's go find him then."

'Joy,' Lohgun thought, this time without a shred of irony.


	7. FORWARD 1 - Scene 3

Lohgun sat on a stool near the black hearth of the drafty hall, greedily sucking up what heat the smoky peat fire offered before it could bleed through to warm the bickering lords of the North and their youthful commander, the newly bearded Robb Stark. Sharing Lohgun's strategic position as a heat brake were William, Jon, and Ghost. Since the hosts departure from Winterfell, theirs were the quiet words spoken to Robb before and after each day's meetings with the great lords pledged to the fifteen year old's father, the imprisoned Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark. And today these great lords were gathered with Robb around a massive stone table inside the Gatehouse Tower of Moat Caillin, discussing in brash Umber, frozen Bolton, agreeable Underwood, sharp Karstark voices the strategy for the coming campaign against the Lannisters and the crown.

Robett Glover pointed down at the maps on the table, "Will old man Frey let us across the Twins. I don't think it so easy to slip past Tywin Lannister on the east side of the Green Fork."

"Fuke that, charge down on the Gold Shiter befer he's ready fer us. We'll knacker him good then, Robb, with his pants around his ankles," proclaimed Lord Jon Umber loudly.

"They will have twice our horse, and more men overall" the Lord of the Dreadfort countered in his ever quiet tone. "Build a fortified position and make the Lannisters charge us."

'So says the bloodless leech of Bolton," the Greatjon spat back in disgust. "What's ta tempt the Old Lion inta such foolishness?"

"And he's such a fool he would'n have outriders to see your huge arse trotting toward him?" the Lord of Karhold scornfully shot back.

The Lord of Tumbledown Tower, a pinprick sized lordship in the vastness of the Wolfswood, unkinked his legs, stretched two heavily muscled arms from out of this badger fur cloak, placing them over his head, and cast a quick grin at his friend William, Lord Dustin of Barrowton. By rank and by valor the Badger's compatriot deserved a seat at the table with his fellow lords, but the game was already rigged. Robb understood the plan his father's boon companions had explained to him over the last week, and he approved; "get there firstest with the mostest." The scene playing out around the table was a simple, yet important show to let the lords believe the young commander of the Northern host heard and valued their words.

Lohgun's blond haired squire came out of the Gatehouse Tower's lone stairwell and sidled around the room to whisper in his lord's ear. The Badger nodded his understanding and Luk withdrew to return to his perch. Jon and William perked up expectantly, only Jon's direwolf Ghost, sharing the fire's warmth with them, remained placid. "The Mermen," he at last announced.

"And Lady Catelyn?" Jon Snow asked with a hint of nerves.

The Badger shrugged. "Unless she decided to return to Winterfell."

"How many?" William asked more practically.

"Fifteen hundred give or take. Maybe two hundred of horse," Lohgun replied.

"So nineteen and a half with which to take father back," Jon muttered.

"Nineteen," disagreed the Badger.

"We'll need to leave a garrison here," the Lord of Barrowton added.

Theon, standing in his favorite position at Robb's back, scowled at them as way of saying they nattered too much. The Greyjoy sprog, ever to full of himself, begrudged the older men's influence on his 'brother' and positively hated that they took Robb's bastard Jon Snow into their confidences, but not him. As heir to the Iron Islands, Theon held both a noble entitlement and a social stigma in the Seven Kingsdoms, but to the North, where he was Ned Stark's ward, any respect provided him rested on his friendship with Robb.

The Badger flashed an exaggerated smile at the young scold and nodded his head ever so slightly back at the table. Theon's lips compressed further, but he returned his attention to the other lords.

Lohgun could see that Jon Snow didn't seem to know whether to laugh or glower at his rival for Robb's brotherly affection. Theon must have felt he'd won their battle when Jon departed for Tumbledown Tower, only to see Jon return almost immediately after Bran's fall and then again when Robb called his father's banners. The Badger patted Jon's knee affectionately. "He's useful for now," he muttered quietly. "But someday he'll go back to those shit sack depressing islands of his, while you'll always share blood with Robb."

The Badger chuckled at the self-satisfied smirk that now peeked out on Jon's face; a chuckle that elicited another quick glare from the self-designated young nag.

The council dragged on.

* * *

(_jean)_

Lohgun sensed her presence first. Tasted her scent through the thick aromas of burned peat, sweat stained leather, filth strewn rushes, and unwashed men. He blinked, staring at the pulled back canvas door into the Hall, there she stood; pride, caring, fear, tenderness, intelligence, and beauty all wrapped in a small, fiery bundle. "Catelyn," he whispered, a promise and a lump of emotion in his throat.

One by one the squabbling lords quieted; and last, looking around the room, perplexed at the silence, Robb spotted her. "Mother?"

"You've grown a beard." She said, staring at her oldest child.

"Yes," Robb answered awkwardly.

"I like it," she announced. "You look like your Uncle Edmure.

One by one, the men in the Hall, the lords of the North, crossed to her and knelt before their liege lord's wife. She greeted each graciously, taking a hand and saying a kind word, even Theon, until Jon Snow presented himself. Her lips thinned, she said nothing, merely bobbing her head curtly once, dismissing him. And last of all came the Lord of Tumbledown Tower, crouching before her, hand extended in homage.

_(jean)_

A mask snapped down like a visor from her thick red hair, replacing Catelyn's thin lipped look with something far icier. "Of course _you_ came," she accused, also not taking the rough hand offered her.

"Milady, how could I not," he answered.

"And you did not come alone, Mother," Robb cut in, sensing the tension, not liking it one bit.

Warmth returned to her as she focused her attention on Robb. She smiled. "I came with Lord Wyman's banners. You know his son, Ser Wendel." The obese second son of White Harbor's lord lowered his belly almost to the floor in casting his greeting to the hall. "And my uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, who has left my sister's service for mine." The tall, lean knight snapped a bow, showing that middle age had not slowed him a whit.

"Ser Wendel. Uncle. Thank you for answering Winterfell's call. We need the courage found in the likes of the Merman and the Blackfish. Is Ser Rodrik with you too? I find I've missed his steady council," Robb inquired.

"Ser Rodrik is on his way to Winterfell, I have named him castellan until our return," his mother replied.

"That'll be soon enough!" the Greatjon boasted. "First we kick Tywin Lannister's wrinkled ole arse out of the way, then on to the Red Keep and freein' Ned."

Catelyn smiled at the crude, simple rendering of the situation. 'If only it were that easy,' Lohgun wished. The Badger cleared his throat. "Beggin' milady's pardon, but is Tyrion halfman with you? As a hostage, we could use him if we must negotiate with the Lannisters."

The auburn haired woman's smile turned to a grimace. "Alas, my fool of a sister let herself be tricked into freeing him," she declared. The hall groaned in unison at the ill news. "I am none happier than any of you, my lords. The Lannisters hold not only Ned, but my dear daughters too. Now if you would all forgive me, I am overtired from my journey and would speak a moment alone with my son before I rested."

Lord Hornwood obligingly led the way for the lords out of the hall and into the open air of Moat Caillin. Lohgun and William, with Jon and Ghost in tow, forced their way through the crowd, looking for the Blackfish who'd been standing close to the door since his entrance.

* * *

"Brynden! Brynden!" William called.

The Blackfish peered over his shoulder and soon flashed a grin, spotting the force charging his position in the mud and cold. He stopped walking and turned around to confront the enemy. "Crypt. Badger." He greeted his companions from Robert's Rebellion.

"We have names, Bryn" the Lord of Barrowton complained with a sigh.

The Blackfish raised his eyebrows dubiously. He then turned his piercing gaze on the youngest member of the party. "This must be Jon Snow," Brynden said a touch coldly.

"I'd be careful around young men who keep direwolves as pets," Lohgun warned. "The Greatjon gave Robb an earful once, now he's missing a couple fingers. Of course Ghost here's a mite better behaved than Grey Wind, but you can never be too careful."

Jon smirked.

Brynden stared thoughtfully at the lad, rubbing one side of his mouth with a forefinger. "Alright," he at last declared in a tone of acceptance. "What can I do for you scoundrels?"

William smiled, baiting the hook. "I know you've been a long time in the Vale," he acknowledged. "How much do you remember about the Kingsroad as it passes down along the Green Fork?"

"And what can you tell us about that old bastard Walder Frey?" the Badger added.

The Blackfish sniffed at the bait. "You're planning something," he declared.

The look of exaggerated innocence William and Lohgun exuded, amplified their silence.

Brynden Tully nibbled at the bottom of this lip. "Oh, you're planning something. I want in. Tell me already, before I knock your stupid heads together. You'll need a real brain to pull off whatever stupid stunt you've got going."

Bait taken. Now they reeled in the fish.


	8. BACK 2 - Scene 1

Lohgun grunted. The muscles of his neck, chest, and right arm bulged out near as thick as the cordage supporting the sails on King Robert's Hammer. Salty sweat dripping down his cheeks touched the corner of his lips. He grimaced. The Badger sucked in a huge breath; every sinew heaved, face turning purple, eyes bulging from their sockets. Lohgun's grunt turned to a groan. His opponent's huge right hand, wrapped around and clutching the Badger's own paw, wobbled and moved backwards an inch.

Buuuuuurrrpppppp!

The stench of ferment grape wafted into the short, stout man's sensitive nostrils.

"That's … nasty," he gasped.

The large, muscular man sitting across the narrow table from Lohgun guffawed at the accusation. "You farted last bout," he laughed cheerfully. "Almost cleared the deck with your vile wind. Didn't he Barristan?"

The ramrod stiff middle aged man standing guard behind the King smiled politely. "T'was right glad I had this white cloak to cover my nose, your Grace."

"See!" shouted Robert Baratheon the First of His Name, gleefully. "So what's a little scent of Arbor red to that?!" he asked rhetorically. "Speaking of which …" And without a quiver or twitch to show he suffered any strain from the Badger's arm wrestling assault, the King reached over with his left hand to pick up a flagon of that very vintage which shared the table top with two powerful, large elbows. The Lord of the Seven Kingdoms smiled as he slipped the mouth of the pitcher to his lips and started draining its contents into his thirsty belly. Until finally he set the flagon back down, proclaiming, "Ahhhhhh, that warms the spirit."

"Best five of nine then," the Badger snarled his challenge.

"But I haven't won the fourth bout … yet," the Demon of the Trident teased, right before flexing his bicep. The back of Lohgun's hand, well actually his hand wrapped around by Robert's fingers, smashed down on to the table top.

"Damn!" the shorter man swore heatedly. The King released his grip. Lohgun lifted up his mangled hand and started massaging out the indentations made in it.

"Hope I didn't hurt you, little man," Robert chortled.

The middle claw of his right hand popped up. Snickt! "Fuck you … your Grace."

The Baratheon Stag's chortle turned to an outright roar of appreciative laughter. "You northerners never show the proper respect to your betters. Seven Hells, I couldn't even convince Ned to come to Lannisport for the Celebration Tourney. Noooooo!" The King's deep bass slid up several octaves in imitation of a woman, "I have to get to Winterfell in time for the birth."

Lohgun pursed his lips and then let them droop into a frown.

Robert's "Cat's already delivered him two. She's clearly fertile; there'll be more after this one, eh?"

"Yes," the Badger answered with a lack of enthusiasm.

"And he missed the worst of it. The belly growing fat, the crankiness, the mooooooood swings, not letting you touch her." Robert shook his head in disgust. "May the gods bless me like they did Ned and I'll be happy to stick a babe in Cersei the night before I leave for a good long war!"

"Your grace!" cried out Jaime Lannister, striding in gold plate armor and a white cloak down the long deck of the royal warship from the prow. "Lannisport."

A childlike grin spread across the King's face. "No ill looks from you Badger, there's a Tourney to enjoy. And the best part," he hooted, "is that my sourleaf of a goodfather will pay for it to thank me for smashing those cutthroat Greyjoys. You'll be entering the Melee, won't you Badger? I'd like some competition for a change."

"I will," Lohgun mumbled, feeling miserable inside.

"Good, good. My war hammer might have a hard time finding such a little man in all the tumult. You'll do fine," Robert Baratheon rambled.

* * *

In the nine months since Victarion Greyjoy and the Iron Fleet burned Tywin Lannister's ships at their moorings, enough of the hulks had been salvaged to make Lannisport useable again. Twenty galleys and forty cogs carrying the cream of King Robert Baratheon's army were coming to visit and celebrate the subjugation of the Iron Islands back under the yoke of the Protector of the Realm. Warriors from the North, the Vale, the Riverlands, the Stormlands, the Reach, and the Westerlands all looked forward to landfall and its bounty of taverns, gambling, spirits, and whores. Most definitely whores. The salt wives and rock wives of Pyke, Great Wyke, and Old Wyke were a dreary lot of damp, lumpy flesh.

With King Robert's Hammer near four hundred oars rapidly closing the distance to the city's main pier, Lohgun sniffed the air. Through the sea spray and fish, around fresh cut wood and paint, a hint of smoke still tenaciously clung to the waterfront, another recipient of the Iron Born's generous offering of fire at the start of their failed rebellion. Yet by the hard work of the small folk and certainly a liberal dose of Westerlands' gold the harbor gleamed and bustled. A fair amount of the supplies used to keep three separate sieges going had originated here. And as savvy a lord as Tywin Lannister was reputed to be, he had undoubtedly squeezed his share of the profits out of that venture.

With such a large fleet arriving and it flying the Stag banner of the Baratheons, Lohgun began to search for signs of the Warden of the West who would surely be present to greet the arrival of his King and goodson. He squinted against the strong sun, looking for a particularly large red and lion banner to proclaim the man's presence. A large shadow of a pair of wings flew out over the water and hovered over the ship. The Badger grabbed at his forehead as an impossibly hot, sharp beak pierced his forehead. The short, stout man collapsed to the slowly rolling deck.

* * *

Lohgun opened his eyes. He floated high, high in the air; wind whipping past him. He saw mountains and where the land sloped down to meet the sea. The sensation unsettled him, he felt like vomiting.

_(logan)_

_(logan)_

_(logan)_

"Leave me alone," he snarled. Without looking, he knew a crow with three eyes soared next to him, barely more than an arm's length away.

_(fly or die)_

_(fly or die)_

"I can't!" he screamed in frustration more than terror.

_(fly or die)_

As always with the nightmare, he didn't need to look to know he plummeted towards the razor sharp, jagged mountain peaks.

_(beyond the wall)_

"Beyond the Wall"

_(beyond the wall)_

"Beyond the Wall"

_(beyond the wall)_

"Beyond the Wall" he chanted. The gods damned bloodraven always repeated itself in threes, since the first time his mind saw and heard it decades past at Castle Black. His impotence triggered a mindless rage. The Badger automatically tried to spring his claws, desperately wanting to skewer the taunting black bird and end the dream. Nothing appeared from the back of his hands as he flailed his arms about.

The middle eye blinked once and the crow faded into night.

* * *

A boot nudged him none too gently, "Get up little man, get up," groused the hard voice of the Greatjon. "The King's standing. What did you drink that didn't make him fall over too?"

Lohgun opened his eyes. He lay on the deck in the large shade cast by the Umber's huge body. The ugly, bearded face of his friend stared down at him."

"Must be the food."

"Bloody tough food to knock you over little man." The giant lowered a hand.

Lohgun accepted and found himself lifted back to his feet in an instant. He looked around in the bright sunlight. He cupped a hand over his brow and stared up to the top of the mast. There sat a massive raven, but with only two eyes.

"Quit gaping before someone shits in your mouth Badger," the Greatjon rumbled. "Time to make our fancy greeting to the High and Mighty Gold Shitter himself and his fat brother."

"Where?" the Badger asked.

The Lord of the Last Hearth pointed to the dockside, where Robert had already disembarked to meet his wife's family. The tall, bald man with huge golden sideburns talking with the King matched the descriptions of Tywin Lannister, but failed to do justice to his essence.

_(shaw)_

And standing next to Tywin was his brother Kevan, clearly another Lannister; shrewd, intelligent, and strong but his girth made him somehow not quite as impressive.

_(leland)_


	9. FORWARD 1 - Scene 4

Before dawn Robett Glover and five hundred horse headed south from Moat Cailin in order to secure the mouth of the Neck. Light had barely risen above the swamps and mist still clung heavy to the bogs, further obscuring the lizard-lions from the unwary, when Willam led out the three thousand men from Barrowlands and the Rills that comprised the day's van. With Lady Catelyn wanting to ride beside her son Robb and his chosen companion for the start of the march to the Riverlands, Lady Maege Mormont, Lohgun decided attaching himself, per usual, to the pack of the Stark heir's hanger-ons was not a smart choice. Besides, he, the Blackfish, and Willam still needed to conspire to work out the details of the plan they were hatching.

That night Willam and Brynden stayed behind after the evening's gathering of Lords. The Badger waited just outside the big tent, animal sharp ears overhearing much of the conversation. The two men first reviewed in brief the strategy for dividing and dividing again Robb's host, which all the Northern Houses had earlier agreed to in principle while eating their dinners. But then, since the scheme rested on an uncontested passage over the Twins, the Crypt and the Blackfish explicitly revealed their desired tactics for suborning old Walder Frey if he proved his typical obstinate self and refused to let the North cross over the Green Fork.

Robb interrupted the explanation frequently, probably trying to calculate all the various moving parts of the attack and the possible responses of the potential enemy. Catelyn laughed at first; and her voice held the tone of youthful delight the Badger remembered from when he and Brandon first met the red haired beauty oh so many years ago at Riverrun. The cold of the North, Ned, age, responsibility, and mistakes had tempered the warmth of her soul. Lohgun felt reassured that her passion for life could still break through the armor of ice she began to coat herself in a decade ago, an armor and a passion which mirrored her husband's. Eventually the skill Catelyn learned sitting so many years at Winterfell's high table kicked in and she started to point out which of the great noble house lords would prove difficult to participate in the stratagem.

"And that's why you have to present them the plan my dear niece," countered Brynden. "And take a part in it too."

The Blackfish started listing options when Catelyn bitterly cut him off, "No, Uncle. Such a suggestion! From you?!"

"Smells of rank hypocrisy, I know," Brynden agreed sadly. "But there are several choices, pick the best one."

* * *

The next day Robb chose Willam and Brynden to ride with him and his mother on the continuing march down the Neck. Rumor quickly swept the miles long column that something important was a foot as the young lord multiple times asked his contingent of noble guards to give him ample space to talk in peace until finally in exasperation near midday he damned them as a bunch of nosy busybodies and sent them off to join the van.

Apparently the two men's powers of persuasion were sufficient to win over the only two people in the host who mattered; and at the evening's council, Catelyn presented the scheme and requested the lords active support to see it through if necessary. The resulting tumult made the Greatjon's finger losing outburst at Wintefell seem a child's tantrum by comparison. Grey Wind proved invaluable by snarling any time tempers flared to near the point of blows being exchanged. Lohgun, again sitting in the back, shook his head in wonder at the dreams and expectations of so many of the great houses. Many went to sleep late that night displeased.

* * *

The following two days saw Roose Bolton and Galbart Glover, two lords with no stake in the plan, shared the Kingsroad with Robb and Catelyn. Halys Hornwood, another unburdened lord, Willam, and the Badger spent their time making almost constant circuits of the marching column in order to cajole recalcitrant lords and offer or carryback counter proposals. Umbers, Tallharts, Karstarks, Cerwyns, Mormonts, Manderlys, and Ryswells proved stubborn and greedy, but not completely immune to pressure and bribery. Their younger sons, and in the Mormont's case a daughter, riding as Robb's companions openly discussed it amongst themselves and seemed amenable to the idea. They most likely informed their sires, or dame, of their opinion like any strong northerner.

On the fifth day from Moat Cailin, once Catelyn finally granted the participation of Starks to the brewing plot, a larger, but very much patchwork appearing agreement fell into place between the houses. Luckily it did, for soon after the hard day's dirty, mudded slog ended and tents began to be pitched, a messenger from Robett Glover's screening force appeared bringing word of four thousand men manning Walder Frey's twin castles on the Green Fork.

"Late again," Catelyn muttered in disgust.

* * *

The next morning Brynden, feeling the plan had taken a hold, departed with a score of men to join Robett Glover and explore further down the river in search of Lannisters. By the time the Host passed off the Neck and travelled halfway to the Twins, regular reports were coming in of skirmishes with outriders under the command of Lord Tywin's bannerman Ser Addam Marbrand, as well as evidence of clashes between Lannisters and Freys.

The news grew worse the following afternoon when Brynden himself made an appearance to tell Catelyn and Robb that the Kingslayer had led a host which broke the main strength of the Riverlands and seen his nephew, Catelyn's brother, Edmure fall.

"Is he alive?" the auburn haired woman gasped.

"Aye, but wounded and captured," the Crypt pronounced grimly.

"What of Riverrun? Father?"

"Lord Blackwood and the survivors have taken refuge there. Now under siege by Westerland dogs."

"They hold?!" Lohgun interjected fiercely.

The Blackfish nodded a tired 'yes.'

With an exultant smile, the Badger turned to Robb, "Then Jaime Lannister must split his force into thirds or leave a way for the castle to resupply. We have him my lords, we have him!"

"If Lord Frey falls for your scheme and allows us to cross," Roose Bolton announced placidly.

"Know yourself, know your enemies," the Badger replied. "Entice him with bait. Encourage his arrogance. Travel by unexpected paths and strike where he has no defenses. And subdue him without fighting."

"Har!" laughed the Greatjon. "So says the fewkin' berserk Badger who shoved a fistful of claws into Jonothor Darry's white armored belly!"

* * *

The battlements of the Twins glistened with swords, spears, and bows. Steam rose from above the Eastern Gatehouse where boiling pots full of oil, water, or rocks waited to be thrown down on any so foolish as to charge the barred gate. Only a quick glance was needed from any in the advancing host to know that storming the castle would be a slaughter. Lohgun and Jon Snow both held white banners as Robb, Catelyn, and fifty lords and lordlings trotted out from the main column and stopped just outside of scorpion range.

Without too long of a wait, a sally port opened and a wide plank slide across the moat to allow a score of knights and four of Walder Frey's sons to ride forth also carrying a parley banner. They drew up a dozen yards away, weasel-like faces set determinedly.

Robb looked anxious to start talking, but restrained himself. Silence held the field a minute.

At last the weathered, sixty year old weasel heir to the Twins, Ser Stevron Fry, shifted uncomfortably in his saddle and then started speaking politely enough. "My father, Lord Walder Frey, has sent me to greet you and ask who leads such a mighty host to his lands."

Robb nudged his horse forward, Grey Wind by his side. "I do," he announced firmly. "The Lords of the North have heard of the wonder of the Crossing and of the strength of its Lord. They asked my permission to come see it for themselves. I granted it and choice to ride with them."

The rheumy grey eyes of the old knight blinked several times in uncertainty. "Ah-hum," he cleared his throat. "My father would be honored to host you, young Lord Stark, and so many of your puissant lords to meat and mead at his table so they may see this for themselves. And then if there are … other things you would wish to discuss, he would certainly oblige you."

Robb smiled. "I am impressed enough already," he declared. "Though there are several here, including my dear mother, Lady Catelyn Tully Stark, who would gladly accept Lord Frey's gracious offer. Perhaps your three brothers would return the favor and dine with me?"

The tired weasel face blinked rapidly again, then the head nodded slowly. "My lord father will be pleased to see Lady Catelyn again, and any of your lords who desire to accompany her. My brothers Ser Merrett, Ser Jammos, and Ser Perwyn will accept your hospitality until Lady Catelyn returns to you."

"They shall be our honored guests. I would hope to see my lady mother by evenfall, Ser Stevron. I do not intend to linger here long," the heir to Winterfell replied. Grey Wind growled to add emphasis to Robb's words, causing all the Frey horses to shuffle nervously.

"Yes, my lord. Lady Catelyn? My lords?" Ser Stevron answered politely.

Catelyn promptly led out her horse, followed by Willam, Rickard Karstark, and the Greatjon. Several more horses shuffled a bit, until Helman Tallhart pulled out, face glum. Maege Mormont chuckled and shaking her head at the wonder of it all she spurred her mount forward.

"What are you Sers, waiting for?" Robb barked. "Escort my lady mother."

Medger Cerwyn and Wylis Manderly looked briefly at each other before joining the parade. Roger Ryswell, heir to the Rills, looked nervously up at the Twins.

"Oh go on, it's not _you_ leaping into the fire Ryswell," Lohgun rebuked.

"Think of your family's glory," the Blackfish prodded.

Roger stayed put, licking his lips.

The soft voice of Roose Bolton reached out. "Come goodbrother, let us find out together what treasure awaits." The Lord of the Dreadfort's steed sidled up to Ryswell's and Roose Bolton took hold of the stunned man's reins, getting the horse to follow alongside his own mount.

"Lord Bolton!" Robb called. "We all agreed you need play no part in this."

A whisper of smile came over his mild, milky face. "I find myself too interested in how this mummer's farce will plays out, I cannot contain myself," he announced placidly. And off he trotted.

* * *

The bottom of the sun had just reached the horizon when the portcullis raised and out came ten riders and thirteen horses. The last three straggling behind Lord Dustin each carried a cage of ravens.

Robb sucked in his breath before nodding to the three Frey hostages and saying, "You may return now." He climbed into his saddle and went to meet Catelyn, Lohgun and the rest of Robb's companions followed suit. "And?" he called out expectantly.

"We may pass," his mother declared. "And they will join their might with ours. We must give them an hour or two to clear a path through the Crossing so we may march over. They are quite full up inside."

"The cost?"

"There will be five weddings once we reach Riverrun!" shouted the Greatjon cheerfully. "My son Barth the first of them!"

Robb's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"I told Lord Walder that my father would demand as liege lord to see the bloom of Frey maidenhood married, but with him so inconvenienced right now the weddings simply had to take place in Riverrun."

"Who else will joins mighty Barth, mother?"

"Lord Bolton, surprisingly enough, his namesake Roose Ryswell, Torrhen Karstark, and Theon."

Robb snorted in surprise at the inclusion of his childhood shadow.

"Yes, I know," Catelyn said. "Walder Frey's a wily old snake. He knew we had him and I was never going to pledge you, so he drove the best bargain he could. Theon is …"

"I know," Robb said in understanding. "And the rest?"

"Five marriages in Winterfell once the Lannisters are beaten to daughters of Lords Dustin, Tallhart, Cerwyn, Manderly, and Lady Mormont. Well, in Eddara Tallhart's case, she must flower first. We have also acquired another ten of Walder Frey's sons, grandsons, and grandsons to squire for us or foster back north. Our lords seem satisfied for now; I've never seen Roose Bolton so bemused. I hope the price does not turn out to have been too high."

"And should Sansa and Arya live, they don't begrudge our engaging them to Harrion Karstark and Eddard Dustin," Robb continued.


	10. BACK 2 - Scene 2

After Robert's arrival at Lannisport, the 'War Tourney', as Tywin Lannister took to extolling it, did not commence for an entire week, since the knights' precious horses needed time to recover from the strains of journeying through the storm frequented seas south of the Iron Isles. The Gold Shitter did not mind the delay in the least, as the tent city of ten thousand celebrating knights, men-at-arms, and camp followers erected outside the walls of his port brought a daily river of commerce to his ravaged merchants and smallfolk. The copper, silver, and gold plunder originally taken by the ironborn were now redistributed back by the free spending, heavily drinking looters of Pyke, Great Wyke, and Old Wyke.

Jorah Mormont flung back the flap to the Greatjon's tent and stomped in like a snarling, hairy beast. "Damn, them. Damn them to their seven hells," he swore.

"Grab a stool and guzzle some wine with us, Bear," the Badger called out cheerfully.

Buuuuuurrrpppppp! "Aye, what ales you?" asked Rodrik Locke with a laugh, now holding up two drinking horns. "A brown ale or a golden one in honor of our wretched hosts."

"Ohhhh," groaned Torrhen Stout of the Saltspear Stouts, shaking his head at the poor pun.

Jorah nevertheless snatched one of the proffered vessels and took a deep draught, leaving a foamy residue on his mustache and beard. "Aye, it's the Lion's wretched brother Kevan and their Westerland dog of a Kingsguard, Preston Greenfield."

The names rang a bell with the pleasantly tipsy Lohgun, "Did the lists come out already? The joust's not to start for another two days, is'nt it?"

"Weren't old Lord Vance the third judge?" asked Torrhen rhetorically. "Don't approve who yer matched against, who is it?"

"Why does the lil' Bear care?" cut in the Greatjon, at last joining the conversation. "Your only middling at best with the lance you know."

"The whole list is rigged to aid the Lannisters and their banners," Jorah spat disgustedly. "I'm to cross against Jason Mallister on the first day."

"Then you'll have time to drink with me the next morning," hooted Rodrik.

The Lord of Bear Island ignored the jab, and stridently continued. "And the second day I'd likely come to blows with Bronze Yohn."

Several now whistled in appreciation of his plight.

"The Old Gods are fucking ya hard, Jorah," the Badger sympathized.

"Your horse is shite, you always aim your lance too low. Gods man, you should be happy enough the list is so big at this shindy that they even picked you, a man uglier than his horse, to ride. Besides, the South loves to crap on a Northman," the Greatjon declared in his too loud voice. "Now me," he said with a smile, leaning back in his stool and placing both hands to the back of his huge noggin. "I'm gonna win both the boxin', and the Melee too. Just watch me."

Derisive hoots and catcalls immediately followed the huge man's lofty prognostication.

Lohgun leaned in close to the ale draining Jorah. "The Greatjon's got a point, Bear. Why so unhappy?"

The thirty-some year old Lord Mormont suddenly looked embarrassed and shy, "There's … there's a girl; a high born one."

'Women,' the Badger thought, drawing up an image of Catelyn in his mind's eye. 'Always trouble.'

* * *

The first day of the tourney featured foot races, the two rounds of the both the heavyweight and middleweight boxing competitions, and the first round, a hundred and twenty eight separate tilt sets in total, of the joust. Too close to dawn for his liking, Lohgun met a squat Dornish sailor in one of the sparring circles, with only the early risers or the late to sleeps in attendance at the match. The Badger let the far southern brawler throw the first haymaker, and he tucked his chin down to his chest to receive it. Snap. Several of his foe's fingers and knuckles broke on impact with the wildling's very, very tough forehead. Lohgun saw a star or two which he rapidly blinked away before setting to against the now one armed fighter. The man had a few rudimentary skills to scrap with, but being just under the six foot height limit that denoted heavyweight versus middleweight competitor, the Dornishman clearly relied more on his strength to win fights. Two minutes later the Badger's first round adversary's lay sprawled on the green grass within the fight circle.

Lohgun then wandered around the sward set aside by Tywin Lannister for the more ignoble Tourney games, sipping a beer he'd bought from a saucy arsed wench until he found where the lumbering giant of Umber waited to give battle. The Greatjon's bout lasted less than half a minute. He simply waded at a thick sturgeon of a Riverlander, effortlessly shrugging off blows to chest and chin and at last, close enough, dropped an anvil sized fist atop the man's skull. "Next!" the Northern Lord bellowed when the sturgeon didn't so much as wiggle upon hitting the turf.

After, the Badger, the Greatjon, and Rodrik Locke switched fields and pushed their way through to the rail in time to watch Mandon Moore's lance smash some hapless hedge knight from out of a cheap leather saddle. One of the Freys beat a Belmore or a Sunderland from the Vale on a third pass, though the three friends held a spirited debate during the match as to which particular house the knight's coat of arms belonged. Next, Addam Marbrand needed a single gallop, lance shattering, to throw a third rate Crownlands' piker. All three friends cheered lustily when the Joust Barker yelled the name of Jorah Mormont and booed unequivocally at the announcement of Jason Mallister, an agreeable enough figure to the three at any other time.

"So that's where the bugger's been," Rodrik announced, pointing at Torrhen who was helping Jorah's squire to finish arming the Bear.

"What's that on his arm," rumbled Greatjon.

"The Stout?" asked Lohgun.

"No, dumb arse. The hairy bear. Looks like lace or silk. Got a pattern er somein' on it."

"Ha-ha," Lohgun burst. "He did it! The cheeky, love starved chump did it!"

"Did what? Did what?" Rodrick complained.

"Won the favor of Lynesse Hightower," the wildling explained.

The Tilt Starter dropped the flag and two armored destriers burst from a standstill to charge one another, knights mounted on their backs. CRASH! To the amazement of none, the Lord of Bear Islands wobbled heavily in his saddle but just managed to keep his seat. To the amazement of any who frequented tourneys, the estimable Lord of Seagard tumbled to earth.

"HUZZAH !" the crowd roared, appreciating an upset.

* * *

In the afternoon of the first day of the Tourney the Badger punched the breath out of a bantam quick, skinny rooster of a man-at-arms from the Stormlands. And the Greatjon quickly pummeled someone even hairier than Jorah Mormont into submission. But of the Lord of Bear Islands, there was no sign that night as his compatriots happily drank their way through some of the more disreputable parts of Lannisport and some of its more disreputable ladies. For Jorah was too busy surreptitiously pitching woo to his new noble lady sweetling.

The second day saw both the Badger and the Greatjon triumph with little trouble against the pugilists arrayed against them in either of the two rounds of the boxing competition run in the isolated corner of the elaborate Tourney. Lohgun, due to the timing of his second bout, missed watching Jorah triumph over Bronze Yohn in what Stout and Locke excitedly retold him required three tilts to decide. The wildling contented himself to swig the juice of the grape and watch a few other fisticuffs, as well as the axe throwing contest allotted that day to the same back field as the boxing.

And again that night, the Lord Mormont performed a disappearing act on his friends, in favor of spending time with sweet Lynesse as the Bear now called the golden haired beauty and youngest child of old Lord Leyton, the Master of Hightower. They did splurge for a round to help console a group of Cerwyns who lamented the breaking of their Lord Medger's arm in a loss to a dastardly Lannister, Lord Tywin's brother Gerion.

* * *

The third morning of the War Tourney found the Badger one of only four middleweight boxers left. Lohgun strode into the circle to face Mark Flowers, who he'd heard was a prizefighter that travelled with a Mummer's Show and for groats, stars, stags, and occasionally even higher stakes would beat the local village or town's toughs and bullies. The man's bare torso, arms, and legs were muscular, but not overly bulky. And as his foe stretched, the wildling could see speed and balance too. But what drew Lohgun's attention most were the prizefighter's dead eyes and the fact he wore a Maester's collar.

"Did you wallop one too many stupid noble novices or acolytes at the Citadel, and the Seneschal throw you out on your arse?" the Badger called out, trying to distract his opponent.

The man stopped his warm up exercises and focused his unfeeling eyes on Lohgun. A mirthless smile crossed the boxer's face, and in a cold voice he announced, "The Maesters broke the mold with me."

The answer sent an unnatural shiver down the Badger's spine, raising the hackles on his hairy neck. The wildling decided to be cautious with this one.

"Boxers to the ready!" shouted the Barker. The fight bell rang.

The two men judiciously approached each other and exchanged tentative jabs, each bobbing heads and swerving bodies. Lohgun launched the first combination, which the ex-Maester deflected with the padding of the bottom of his fists before pivoting out of the way and launching a punch just below his ribcage. 'He's watch me,' the wilding thought. And then the Badger dangerously stuck out his lowered head, tempting the bastard child of the Reach with an easy target. The man simply took the opportunity of Lohgun's lowered gaze to side step and hit him quickly in the kidney. "Damn," the wildling swore. Four minutes later the bell rang, ending the first round.

Returning to his corner, his friends all yelled at him. "What's the problem, Badger?!" Rodrik complained. "Thump him, shorty! You're boring me" the Greatjon grumbled. "You been drinking already?" Torrhen whined.

"He's good. Damned good," Lohgun acknowledged.

"And yer the fewkin' Badger. Beat his arse!" the Greatjon demanded.

The bell rang, and the next five minute round started. The Badger landed a few hard licks about the bastard's chin, but in exchange the Prizefighter kept working on his kidneys. The second round turned into a third and the third into a fourth. As the crowd grew larger and louder, watching the lightning quick and technically brilliant fight, Lohgun decided to use his near limitless stamina to simply wear his skilled opponent down.

Round four passed to five and five on to six as the sun rose higher in the sky; and the Badger's strategy was paying off. The ex-Maester's left eye was swollen half shut, causing him to keep shuffling to the right to be able to keep a good eye on the wildling. And each step seemed a tiny, tiny bit slower than the previous; the jabs lost speed and hit softer. Lohgun smelled victory and smiled ferociously, though he knew he'd piss blood later, for the bastard had never once stopped working the lower body, organs unprotected by bones sheathed in metal strong as Valyrian steel. The Badger jabbed quickly with his left towards the chin. The good eye widened in recognition at the incoming blow and the Prizefighter's head jerked back while stepping yet again to the right.

'Gottcha!' Lohgun thought, launching a haymaker right toward the target of the swollen left eye. To his stunned amazement, the man swung his head low, towards the Badger. The wildling's arcing punch glanced off the top of the Prizefighter's head and in return Lohgun received a jab to the face. Crack! The bastard moved left. Crack! Crack! Two lightning fast, powerful jabs slammed him in the face again, and then the trickster danced to previously unused left. 'You've been suckered!' he thought desperately.

The wildling raised his arms to try and catch the blows as he pivoted to keep up with the bastard. Lohgun squinted, the sun now shown directly in his eyes. Crack! Crack! He felt his nose break, tears welled up at the sting of pain. He flailed out, placing ill-aimed shots that bounced off shoulders and upper arms. More walloping smacks pummeled him. Nearly blind, the Badger grabbed for the safety of a clinch, snaring one of his foe's arms. He buried his face right into the ex-Maester's neck, up against the collar of alternating metals. To his amazement, the iron, brass, steel, bronze, cooper, platinum, and Valyrian steel forged links of the collar started to glow and sizzle with heat. Lohgun felt the chain burning into the flesh of his face.

"Yeeeeooohhhh," he screamed, pushing away from the clinch.

Crack!

The Badger barely felt the blow, or a second later the touch of the earth on his back. The world spun. The crowd cheered.

* * *

Lohgun felt a wet cloth laying across his face. He swiped it away and found himself laid out on a cot inside the partially darkened Umber pavilion.

"The wildling lives," said a kind voice.

"Want some wine?" asked another.

"Helman? Galbart?" the Badger wondered, mind fuzzy and unsure of his surroundings.

"And Medger too," announced Lord Cerwyn. "We're having a meeting of the Tourney losers. Glad you woke up in time to join our frightful little party."

"What happened?" he murmured.

"To you? Looks like you got kicked by a mule," said the Lord of Deepwood Motte. "Or at least you did. Whatever it is the Old Gods have blessed you with seems to have worked again, you're back to your regular ugly self."

Helman Tallhart and Medger Cerwyn chuckled at the insults.

"Where's the Greatjon?" he queried, trying to sit up in the cot, innards giving him a dull ache for the effort.

"He won," said Helman, Lord of Torrhen's Square. "Stunned both his foes like a cow right before slaughter."

"Which means," Medger continued, "he and his cronies are out drinking, whoring, fighting, and generally making the Lannisport militia miserable tonight."

'Where's Jorah?"

Galbart shrugged his shoulders and said, "He beat two sons of the Twins today, Hosteen and Rymer, Ryman? I think. But Helman, here, lost to Lord Whent in the morning. I beat my man, some sellsword scum, and then Ser Barristan the Bold laid me low in the afternoon. But where the Bear disappeared to? Well he weren't here earlier with the Greatjon nor Stout or Locke."

"And now yer stuck babysitting me?"

"We came to congratulate Greatjon on his victory, then he offered us wine and ale to sit with you, so we took him up on his offer," Helman explained.

"Did any of them say how I lost?"

His three companions looked at each other mutely, at last Galbart responded, "Rodrik said you got blinded by the sun."

"I'll say," the Badger agreed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in vain hope of massaging away the sharp pain lodged behind his eyeballs. "Now where's some of that wine. I'd like a sip before I go find a bucket to piss blood into."

* * *

The fourth day of the Tourney witnessed the champions' matches for the heavyweight and middleweight boxing. The Greatjon won his bout, just like the big ox boasted all week he'd do, but at the cost of one ear turning the size of a cauliflower. Mark Flowers, relentless as the waves pounding on the beach, hammered his way to final victory. Each fighter won a purse of five hundred gold dragons that Robert happily enough gave away to the winners, as the coins belonged to his goodfather and not the crown. A croft holder from the Reach, possibly beholden to House Rowan won the archery contest to earn two thousand gold dragons and a new weirwood bow. Jorah, inspired by the beauty who's favor he carried, continued his improbable run at the tilts, defeating first Lord Whent, thus avenging Helman Tallhart, and then Lyle Crakehall, the powerful Lannister bannerman known as 'the strongboar.' At least that night the Badger suffered no ill effects from his previous day's loss and so celebrated his friend's boxing championship in true wildling fashion, stealing away for pleasure on three separate occasions with the wives or daughters of minor Westerland lordlings who'd caught his fancy.

* * *

The Badger missed the War Tourney's final day. A raven arrived in Lannisport with word that soon spread like wildfire through the Northern encampment, Eddard Stark's lady wife Catelyn had given birth to the third of his line, a girl child. With that news, all joy in the tournament fled from Lohgun. The thought of participating in the Melee and even cheering on Jorah in the last two rounds of the joust now sickened him. The wildling could no longer pretend to himself. He knew what honor demanded of him; where his place lay, far to the north, in Winterfell. So Lohgun quietly packed his meager belongings onto his sturdy little garron and slipped away from camp without a word of goodbye for his friends, just the briefest of notes scrabbled in charcoal on a table in the Greatjon's tent, "Gone North, B."


	11. FORWARD 1 - Scene 5

"Bluff the Old Lion hard," Brynden said earnestly. "Young Robb and Bloodless Bolton will need all the time you can give them."

"I seem to remember thinking this ruse up in the first place, you ugly old fish," Willam replied wryly, before turning his destrier toward Lohgun, who squatted nearby atop a small black and white garron. The two old friends looked at each other a long minute, neither saying anything.

The Badger finally broke the silence, "Joy."

Willam nodded his head and whispered back, "For Ned. Joy." Lord Dustin then trotted off to his new squire, Olyvar Frey, now betrothed to twelve year old Lyanna Dustin. The young man currently held the reins for the three horses carrying the caged ravens trained to fly to Riverrun, Fairmarket, and the Twins. Together, the pair galloped off to join up with the faux northern army heading southeast, back towards the Kingsroad. The decoy force Lord Dustin would lead consisted of Robett Glover's mixed command of five hundred outriders, seven hundred men and a hundred horse from the Rills under Roger Ryswell, two hundred mounted Frey banners commanded by Ser Tytos, a grandson of Lord Walder from his fourth son, and the four hundred horse and eighteen hundred foot of the Barrowlands.

'Forty five hundred total men with which to trick Tywin Lannister into thinking the North desired battle with him. But for how long?' Lohgun wondered.

"Quit daydreaming Badger, the last of Robb's van is about to enter the Crossing," Brynden hectored.

"Stop yapping your gums, bub," Lohgun grumbled, unhappy to have his musings interrupted. "And how can I daydream when it's night?" Nevertheless, the Lord of Tumbledown Tower put spurs to his diminutive mount and galloped to catch up with Robb's thirty five hundred cavalry and the four hundred mounted Frey troops commanded by the tired, old weasel Ser Stevron. This force would travel through the night and push itself hard each day until it could relieve Riverrun. 'Maybe some of the Riverlands' scattered banners will glom on to us,' he hoped.

The Blackfish and the Badger rode wide around the newly pitched tents of the remainder of the Northern host, some thirteen thousand men and two hundred horse. On the morrow, five hundred of them would remain behind with Helman Tallhart to take up residence in the Twins and ensure the 'Late' Lord Frey's good faith in the new alliance. Then the rest, along with close to three thousand Frey bannermen led by Ser Hosteen, another of the over numerous fruit of Walder Frey's loins, would march across the Green Fork and make for Fairmarket on the Blue Fork with all speed.

"Get there firstest with the mostest," the Badger muttered. "Firstest with the mostest."

* * *

Robb's horse stood still in the main square of Fairmarket as he gazed out across the river facing side of the large open space currently devoid of its usual merchants and shoppers. An inconspicuous wooden bridge, just wide enough to handle a single wagon at a time, spanned the high banks of the Blue Fork. More of the town, all-in-all large by Northern standards, sprawled out in disorganized fashion on the other side of the moderately paced river. A few hours of daylight still remained; sufficient time for all the young lord's mounted force to cross, assuming the unassuming structure could withstand the strain.

"We have to cross _that_ rickety thing," said Winterfell's heir, with more than a hint of disbelief to his voice.

Lord Jason Mallister chuckled, "It's stronger than it appears, my lord. The last one got washed away in flooding, oh … six or seven winters ago, during my youth. You'd have to go back a century or two to discover a bridge that served Fairmarket longer than this one."

"I am somehow _not_ reassured, milord," Robb grunted, eliciting hoots and snickers from those around him.

Brynden cut through the laughing magpies, "My lord nephew, we must not dawdle."

Chided, an emulation of Ned's lordly mask descended over the teenager's face. "Uncle, would you and Ser Patrek kindly lead the five hundred men of Seagard over first and scout ahead? We know not for certain how far the Kingslayer's scouts roam."

Lord Mallister's son and the Blackfish both snapped him a quick salute and then started yelling for the men of the Riverlands to move out.

"Theon, Littlejon, Ser Wendel, Black Walder," Robb continued, addressing a portion of his personal companions, "Take a hundred men each up both sides of the river and scour the banks for any boats, no matter how small, and sail or row them back here."

Horses promptly began moving to carry out his command.

"Eddard, Dacey, Ser Perwyn, Daryn, do the same downriver. Lord Bolton must find a fleet here, no matter how ragtag, when he arrives in four days. It will not do if he finds all fifteen thousand men must march to the Ruby Ford," spoke Robb quite sternly.

More horses immediately departed.

Finally, his lord's attention turned to himself. "Badger, we've had no word from Lord Dustin in the four days since we left the Twins. Pray find whatever lord or maester for this town keeps its ravens. I am eager for news on well his ruse goes against the gods damned Tywin Lannister!"

Lohgun lofted a salute. Soon he and his two score bannermen from Tumbledown Tower were searching for the tallest buildings in Fairmarket, under the assumption one of them would hold the town's aviary.

* * *

The Blackfish and three score outriders, all wearing boiled leather and odd pieces of mail, burst their mounts out of the stream that curved through the modest open dell in the northeastern part of the Whispering Wood. As they raked spurs across their horses mud splattered flanks, riding heading hells bent for leather toward the apparent escape offered by the tree line ahead of them, stained, torn banners showing the Naked Maiden of the Pipers and the Leaping Silver Trout of the Tullys rippled in the wind overhead. A cacophony of shouts and galloping hoof beats chased after the intrepid band, seeking vengeance for the dozen outriders of Lord Jaime Lannister's mobile force slain in an ambush not long after the sun set. A full moon, welcoming the New Year, now hung low in the sky, lighting the way for eight hundred men charging their mounts full out beneath golden Lannister lion, purple Brax unicorn, and six Westerling seashell styled banners.

Unobtrusively, Lohgun slithered his slight garron in between the much larger war horses of Robb's personal companions until he reached the front rank. The first of the fleeing men reached the edge of the pines and the first of the Westerlander splashed into the stream, now even with the Stark heir's hidden position on the flank of the valley. The Badger drew a short, curved sword, and then another even shorter, curved sword, awaiting the sound of horns, from the Mormont and Umber forces secreted on the opposing flank of the earthly basin, to signal the attack.

Lohgun felt his senses expand. Time slowed. He merged with the blaze of motion, sounds, and scents.

A third of the Kingslayer's forces had now passed out of the stream.

"Woooooh! Woooooh! Wooooh!" blared into the night sky.

The short, stout man's diminutive, lithe mount burst from between trunks and over scrubby bushes into the valley's meadow before the heavier warhorses of the other Northerners, and Riverlanders too, could build up any momentum. The Badger sped forward. He saw the charging Lannisters slow and bunch up into several disparate groups, confused by the sudden sounds and shadows racing out from three sides at them, but not unfortunately for long.

"Ta-deeeeee! Ta-deeeeee!"

A rally call blew in the center of the valley. The silvery moonlight at last revealed the golden armor of Jaime Lannister, sword pointing up the gentle slope at the wave of Starks, Freys, and Cerwyns sweeping down at them. Admirably, a third of the Westerlands turned west and trotted forward, forming a loose wedge with the Young Lion at the point, and then increased their speed to a canter.

Donnel Haigh, one of the plentiful Freys, Torrhen Karstark, and then Jon Snow, Ghost racing by his side, drew even and soon passed by the Badger in their foolish, youthful rush for glory, blood, agony, and death. On the boundaries of his vision, Lohgun noted Hornwoods and Karstarks thundering down on the Lannisters still north of the stream; and Mallisters, Umbers, Mormonts, and Manderlys slicing down like a scythe from the east.

The flying wedge tightened up and three hundred Lannister stallions, geldings, and mares suddenly bolted from a canter to a gallop. Only seconds remained before the first clash of steel. Thankfully, Lohgun discerned no lances were held by the charging red cloaks.

The garron responded instantly to the tug on the reins and drafted in behind Jon's sturdy piebald, eating the clumps of mud and grass the bigger horse's hooves churned up. The wedge and the charging shadows collided. The Bastard of Winterfell lifted his shield and shrugged off the clanging swing of the first enemy passing on Jon's left side. Lohgun sliced out the wakisashi and took the rider's mount in the neck, causing both horse and man to tumble bouncing to the earth. With his right hand the katana lashed off the foreleg of another horse while tilting his head back to avoid a decapitating blow. The knight cartwheeled off his maimed mount, landing with a bone crushing impact.

Ahead, the direwolf disemboweled some Banefort man-at-arms' steed before ripping part of the soon falling man's arm off. Lohgun smiled savagely, approving of the beast's methods. This was war. There was no honor inherently natural to a horse or a pretty knight or the noble rules governing how to kill another human being. The Badger's thick, muscular arms swung both blades in a tireless whirlwind, a life's light dimming or ending with each effortless swing. Gore, some of it his own, stained his chain hauberk and dripped off his face. The wicked, lustful, familiar song throbbed and twisted deep in his soul, each note accentuated by the rhythmic beat of steel on steel, filling his belly with a warmth more satisfying than any woman or wine. The only honor lay in who and what you fought for. The Mad Badger felt his conscience reach the point of dissolution, only the compulsion to kill remaining, a berserker rage. Time stood still.

"Stark! Boy! Fight me, fight meeeeeee!"

'No.' He knew that voice. He fought to remember it, to remain in the present. A giant black bird flew across the silvery face of the moon, casting an immense shadow of beating wings over the valley floor. "Kingslayer," the man called Lohgun at last whispered, returning to himself.

The Badger turned his spritely, undersized pony toward the source of the threats. Jaime Lannister struggled no more than thirty feet from Robb, blade spitting out death in an impossible blur of speed and strength. The garron's knees started to buckle. 'Fool,' he cursed himself for getting distracted and losing the flow of his surroundings. A sword drew back from next to his leg, pulling a long, blooded blade from out of his faithful mount's lung. Lohgun kicked his feet from out of the stirrups and hopped to a stand on the saddle as the horse began collapsing. Eight to ten riders separated him and the Kingslayer. The Badger sprang.

Horseback. A Lannister. Wakisashi to kidney. Step.

Horseback. A Frey. Grab backward swinging arm. Steady. Leap.

Horseback. A Lannister. Incoming swing. Side step away.

Horsefront. A Brax. Knee to face. Crouch. Jump.

Horseback. Already dead. Hop.

Horseback. The Badger watched Theon's horse, from the Kingslayer's shield side, push Owen Norrey's now mountless charger to out of the way. The smug youth drove his swordpoint straight at the Golden Lion's exposed thigh. Without seeming to have looked, Lannister lowered the wooden guard and deflected the blow while stabbing his blade across the front of his chest and around the edge of the shield. Theon's eyes bulged, and then his face went pasty white, as an inch wide and six inches long piece of steel passed through mail, leather, bicep, leather, and mail. To the boy's credit, while he dropped his sword he raised his shield just in time to knock back the Kingslayer's withdrawing blade and then successfully catch two more lightning fast strikes before the Lannister moved relentlessly forward toward his goal. The Kingslayer now came within a sword length of Robb.

"Die!" the Golden Lion roared.

"Die!" the Badger cried, leaping off of horseback, flying over the helm of some knight, and stretching into the air. He wouldn't make it all the way. Robb hid behind his shield, desperately trying to catch the Kingslayer's hurtling thrust on his own blade. Grey Wind snarled. The Badger tucked tight.

His upper back and lower neck hit hard into the well churned earth, but his momentum kept him rolling forward. Toes and feet brushed the ground and Lohgun pushed down hard, launching him at an upward angle. The wakishasi and katana both buried deeply into flesh. Jaime Lannister's war horse reared on its hind legs in unimaginable pain. The Badger saw the barest glimmer of recognition and then the Young Lion's blade flashed down. The wildling released his two embedded blades and raised his clenched fists, hoping to catch the slashing attack. Snickt! Snickt! Six armored claws popped from the backs of his hands. Too late. He howled. He bled. The Kingslayer cut through the meaty part of his upper left arm, down to the bone.

The Badger stabbed with his right hand, finding shield, but the hardened claws penetrated through wood, steel bands, and into the Kingslayer's armored forearm. A blaze of light burst through the puncture holes, illuminating Lohgun's face. The Young Lion bellowed his own pain, yet also refused to yield to it and beat his sword down again, this time catching the wildling in the crook of the neck, splattering gore in the air.

Lohgun slumped heavily, strength draining from his body with every spurt of blood. But the angle of his claws, piercing into the Kingslayer's shield and arm, held stubborn to the foe, not releasing their grip. The stout man's heavy body now became a deadweight hanging off the Young Lion, trying to pull the Lannister from his saddle. The strong man heaved hard against his stirrups and shook his shield with terrible might trying to dislodge the wildling. Jaime Lannister cried louder with every shake, each movement causing the trapped claws to turn and further ravage the inside of his forearm.

Lohgun's eyelids fluttered. A glittering blade slashed through the moonlight. Sparks and another burst of light sprang into the air. An eerily detached Badger watched the Kingslayer's body fall to the earth on one side of him, the man's hand, still clutching his golden sword, land to the other side of him, and a wolfishly grinning Robb Stark complete the swing of his blooded steel. Before he lost consciousness, Lohgun saw the Kingslayer's fingertips spasm mechanically on the pommel and a spark shoot out of the glistening stump. "Pierce," he whispered.

Darkness … and a dream about a strange blackbird, with three shiny, unblinking eyes, followed.


	12. BACK 2 - Scene 3

The boat unmistakably, irresistibly stank of fish ... a lifetime of fish. Fresh fish. Gutted fish. Rotten fish. Fish scales. Fish innards. Fish eyes. Fish gills. Fish heads. Fish eggs. Fish shit. The overwhelming, putrid smells covered not only the entire crude sea craft, but the even rougher crew that sailed her. Lohgun had travelled several days north out of Lannisport, along the coastline, until he at last found inside a rocky cove somewhere he suspected opposite Fair Isle both a village and a small fleet of working boats unburned by the Ironmen during their rebellion. On the eighth day of his passage, the wildling yet again closed his sensitive nostrils to the prodigious odor and buried himself deep in memories. This morning he chose to relive how he bought passage on this vile vessel.

The coarse tenants of the hard scrabbled hamlet's lice infested common hut, which also passed as the local pub, laughed viciously at Lohgun's announcement he'd pay well to be sailed around Cape Kraken and into Blazewater Bay. His well-seasoned eyes watched them finger their fish gutting knifes and other nearby handy weapons as they assessed whether he carried enough wealth to make the risk of breaking Tywin Lannister's law worth their while. "The Great Keep of Balon Greyjoy is smashed by the King; and the Iron Fleet sunk by his brother, Stannis Baratheon," the Badger proclaimed loudly. "The sea roads are safe again."

"An how's youse keen that lil' man," an octogenarian wheezed, before hawking and plastering a wad of phlegm on one of the wildling's boots.

"Cause I sailed with them," he snarled in answer to the challenge. Snickt! "And killed enough Pyke bastards to fill the bellies of each one of the shitten boats your too scared to take off the beach."

A murmuring of gasps rose in the murky, soot stained hovel at the sudden appearance of three of the Badger's deadly claws. With his spare hand he dug into a pocket and found a copper to casually flip on to the slanted, knotted, knife scarred board that acted as the bar. He swiped up an untended mug and chugged the weak yellow brew within. "Aug!" he spat. "Gods this tastes like piss!" The room chuckled nervously at his discomfort.

He slammed the tankard down, shaking the board dangerously, and dug out another copper. "Give me another," he demanded. "And if it tastes like shit, I'm gutting someone," he added, waiving a be-clawed hand around. A mug promptly appeared before him. He sipped at the bitter, hoppy dregs. "Better," he muttered disagreeably. The three claws retracted beneath the skin on the back of his hand, leaving only a few dribbles of blood as evidence the dagger like projections had even existed. He purposefully turned his back on the crowd and took another gulp. Slowly the sounds of the room increased as the smallfolk gave grudging acceptance to his presence and returned to the patterns of their regular conversations: the war, hamlet gossip, the weather, fishing stocks, ship repairs, etc.

Soon enough a greasy, tall, but slender sailor in a great coat sidled up to Lohgun and bobbed his head in greeting. "Youse da Badjur, ain'ts ya? I saw youse and d'othur norfmen at Sturm'en."

The wildling turned and looked the man directly in one eye, the other wandering off to look at the wall. "Long way from here to Shipbreaker Bay, bub," he pointed out.

The man smiled knowingly, showing several gaps between his yellow stained teeth. "Werked on a wee scow out of da Port, goin up 'n deen da coast wid bulk lods. Were ashur on d'Arbur ween ol' Patter Reedwin order da impressin' ta man his feet pur layin ofta Sturm'en. Dull werk dat tern ta be pur a yer. Had jus row'd supplees ashur ween da greet norfmen Lor Stark shows up ta lash Reedwin and dat Tie-reell greet Lor ta heel." The sailor snickered at the recollection of the mighty getting hoist up their own yardarm. "Sees youse den, remembers da names othurs point'd uut." The narrow man tapped his narrower skull to emphasize the apparent strength of his memory. "Backs nowz fer, fiv yers." He rubbed a thumb and forefinger together. "Wid coin ta buy da Fluke frum me cuz. No beeger boat herin."

"Room to carry a horse too?" Lohgun asked.

The self-proclaimed sea captain pondered a moment, scratching at a boil peeking through the scraggly beard on his neck. "Yes'm. Cost mer doh." The narrow skull swept up and down the little man next to him, the one good evaluating the Badger's worth. "Fiftee draguns."

The wildling laughed. He had a boat. The rest was just bargaining.

The boom started to come about as the dodgy, smelly vessel started tacking, rousing Lohgun from his mental exile. To the southeast he could just see a point of land, the northern tip of Cape Kraken, they were about to enter Blazewater Bay, and beyond that the Saltspear and the Barrowlands. The Badger would soon set foot again in the North.

* * *

He cheerily said goodbye to Slow-eyed Peet and his three ruffians of a crew in the tidal zone where the Barrowdown River met the Saltspear. The rising headlands made the winds less regular and reliable progress slow for any boat without oars hoping to go up the Down. Luckily a barge was newly arrived at the sea village where the river and the inlet merged. Happy to be departing from the stink and with the fact the smelly bastards never once tried to pull anything over on him, Lohgun handed over a bonus of four gold coins to the ragged fishermen.

He had to wait two days before the barge would be loaded up with enough goods to warrant the trip back up stream to Barrowton, but the wildling used the time to good use; drinking and hearing the gossip of the Rills and Barrowlands. Lohgun was pleased that word said Lord Dustin's one year old son and heir, Eddard, thrived; though all still mourned that his birth eventually took the life of his mother the Lady Barbrey. The Badger looked forward to meeting the little tyke, and Willam too, when the upcoming three day long river journey ended. This trip would only cost his coin purse six silver stags.

* * *

"We missed you Will," Lohgun said to his friend, who sat in his Keep's solarium while three year old Lyanna played with her baby brother. "And we were all sorry to hear about Barbrey. You made the right choice in staying with her."

The Lord of the Barrowlands, Master of Barrowton, Head of House Dustin looked haggard and worn, decades older than his thirty years. The Badger's unexpected arrival had taken his friend's Steward by surprise. But the old man had known Lohgun for ten years, and after whispering that his Lord still painfully grieved the passing of his lady wife, had promptly taken the short, savage man to Willam. The shadow now peering back at him worried the wildling.

"Thanks for your kind words, boyom," the shadow said with a sigh. After pausing, Willam continued, "My heart told me staying with her was the thing to do, but it gnawed at me fierce, even as she got sicker and sicker. I felt I let Ned down, sending Ser Harwood to lead my banners."

"No one questions your loyalty, Crypt," Lohgun said reassuringly.

The Lord of the Barrowlands nodded his head in understanding. "Alas poor Stout showed not a whit of luck and lost his arm to the damned Ironborn. Hard, hard, hard," Willam repeated.

"But he lives, and so does this strong red haired son of yours. He'll make you proud, and Barbrey too."

"And me?" little Lyanna asked.

Willam smiled kindly, "you too love, you too. Now here's nanny, Lya; time for both your naps."

As the children were shuffled out, neither of the men spoke, though Willam picked up his too lean body from the chair and poured wine for the both of them. Returning to his perch and taking a sip, some of his natural enthusiasm seemed to reappear. "So tell me of the shindy I missed."

Lohgun shrugged. "What's to tell. Robert's brother Stannis beat the Iron Fleet, opening the sea lanes, then he led the army that took Great Wyk. And I'll say that six years and regular feeding haven't improved that dour asshole's mood one bit since Storm's End. Not even when he got word he'd become a father."

The chuckle the shadow began at the mention of Stannis' brusque persona died immediately at word of a successful childbirth.

'Fuck me, that was stupid,' the Badger thought, but he plowed on anyway. "Old Ser Barristan boldly took Old Wyk. And Robert stormed Pyke, always at the damned front and in the thick of the fighting, just like at the Trident."

"Forcing Ned to unduly risk himself for the King, no doubt," Willam said with quiet condemnation.

"And me!" burst the Badger. "Someone had to shield the honor bound fools from themselves." Then, in an aggrieved tone, he continued, "I could have gotten hurt."

Silence held a moment before a well of laughter bubbled out of the two companions. Willam at last wiped tears from his eyes and pronounced, "Joy."

Lohgun reined in his mirth. "Joy," he repeated.

More silence followed. The two men sipped their cups and leaned far back into their chairs. Though the sun was no brighter outside the solarium, a bit of darkness lifted inside it.

"Barbrey never wanted me to go," the Lord of the Barrowlands announced.

"To the Iron Islands? Of course not," the Badger agreed.

"No. She didn't want me to go South, with Ned, to avenge Brandon and Lord Rickard. When word reached us of his murder, Barbrey locked herself in our room for a day, a night, and a day. The whole Keep heard her weeping. But when she at last came out, she acted as though nothing had happened … well until Ned's raven arrived, calling for my banners. Oh how bitterly she fought my going Badger, every spare minute she could wring out of me she harangued me."

"She loved you," Lohgun said hollowly. He'd visited the Barrowlands and the Rills many times with Brandon on his tours of the North. "You were near newlyweds, she couldn't bear the thought of losing you."

"Did she? Barbrey had only once before opposed me so determinedly. She refused to go to _his_ and Catelyn's wedding at Riverrun. I surrender to her wishes for I so desperately wanted her to love me. We stayed; otherwise I'd likely have ridden to King's Landing with Brandon, Kyle, Jeffory, Elbert, and Ethan. I was spared. I was damned well not going to let her stop me again. And she must have known that. So in the ten days it took me to muster the Barrowlands and arrange the supply train, she contacted her father. The night before I left, she took me to the stables and showed my Big Red, the pride of Lord Ryswell's herd."

"The finest in the North."

"Aye, she was," Willam agreed, though Big Red was a stallion. "Barbrey gave him to me and said that if I did not come home on him, it would be the fault of the Starks. She swore that if I fell she'd destroy the Starks like the Lannisters did to the Reynes of Castamere." Lord Dustin sniffled. "We made mad love in the hay."

"As fierce a frail as you'd ever want," the Badger stated.

Willam nodded his head in agreement. "It was the first time in our marriage I knew, really knew, she loved me. And Brandon had to die for me to experience it." Tears dripped noiselessly down the shadow's face.

The wildling felt sick to his stomach. Was Willam holding a mirror to reflect, to distort, the plight of Lohgun's own love. He desperately wished to be elsewhere. "Crypt," he whispered, "you don't … I mean … she …"

"Brandon had her first, took her maidenhead long before she wed me. I'm not so big a fool, Badger, he fostered here three years and spent a quarter of the time travelling the Rills," Willam said with little heat. "Who else would he have been seeing, but _her_. Women fell over themselves for our dear Brandon, _she_ wouldn't have been any different. I always thought it was his eyes. They glowed with a fire that dared ladies high and low to unleash, to try and tame it."

Lohgun nodded his head, knowing exactly the charm and power Brandon could exert through his eyes. "He was _the_ direwolf of our pack, and the rest of us just wolverines in comparison."

Willam continued, "I pretended not to notice Barbrey didn't bleed with our bedding. I didnae care. She was soooo … enchanting, far above common beauty, a northern star, my Polaris. Sometimes, when the sunlight hit her brown hair just so, I'd swear it took on a hint of green. She laughed when e'er I'd call her a child of the forest. And now she's gone. Gone."

After a few hours the light entering the solarium turned red, then pink, and finally dark. The two friends sat together, sharing the pain and occasionally wondering what the future might bring.


	13. FORWARD 1 - Scene 6

The oversized pony fidgeted nervously; hooves tiptoeing and muzzle occasionally snorting. It didn't seem to matter how frequently a horse came into controlled, peaceful contact with a direwolf, the big deadly things inevitably spooked any equine beast, from doughty donkeys to well-trained war horses. Lohgun yanked hard on the reins to steady the garron. He looked down at Ghost who sat between him and Jon Snow's mount. Taking note of the attention, the direwolf lifted its head to direct accusing eyes, practically glowing red in the darkness, up at the Badger. 'What? I'll look at you whenever I damn well please ya overgrown mutt,' he thought. Red eyes kept staring at him, challenging him. The hackles raised on the back of Lohgun's neck. Instinctively a primal growl throbbed in his chest and throat.

A long tongue popped out from between powerful canines to lick one side of Ghost's snout. The direwolf sighed and lay all the way down on the ground, choosing to ignore the man's posturing.

Jon chuckled. "He's not a puppy anymore Lohgun. You can't intimidate him."

"I'm the fucking Badger," he snarled. "I'll gods damn intimidate anybody or anything I want to!"

"Touchy tonight, aren't you?" the young man pointed out more than asked.

Lohgun looked away, turning his head to watch as the Lord of Winterfell, 'Gods can it be true?' he thought, still thunderstruck by the notion, and his Lord's companions started to trot away from the column of horsemen led by the eagle banner of the Mallisters and over to his column, spread out behind the chained giant banner of the Umbers. Watching the Direwolf banner follow close to young Robb, Lohgun's mind slip back to two nights past, when he first learned of the young man's unwanted inheritance.

* * *

The wildling groaned. His head, neck, and chest ached; while his mouth felt like a desert, home to tumbleweeds. He blinked. 'What's a tumbleweed?'

"You're alive," an emotional voice gasped.

"Of course I am," he muttered weakly, slowly peeling back an eyelid to see Jon Snow, sporting an inches long gash down the right side of his face, staring weepily down at him. "I'm the fucking Badger; too stubborn to kill, bub."

The boy clenched his bloodshot eyes tight. A laugh and a moan tried to gurgle out of Jon at the same moment, resulting only in a flow of mucus to gush from his nose. The eyes unclenched. Tears flowed. Agony writ clear on his face.

"Wh … wh … what?" Logan stammered, mind slow and foggy through the steady beat of pain. Then the last images he remembered before passing out in the battle floated past. Jaime Lannister. A blooded Robb. 'Robb!' Adrenaline coursed through him. "Is Robb ok? Tell me! Tell me Robb's alive!"

"Yes, yes," Jon nodded rapidly, flinging tears and a few drops of blood on to Lohgun. "He was barely touched in the … in the fight." Ghost stepped out of the dark and buried his face in Jon's armpit.

"Then who?" he asked perplexedly.

The boy sniffled hard, drawing some of the slime covering his upper lip back into his nose. "Ffffff … father," he wheezed.

"Ned?" The world spun. His heart fell. His senses faltered. His insides turned into a vacuum, all hollow. "But … but, Ned's in King's Landing," he said numbly. "How?"

"The captured Westerlanders … from them … they … they heard it yesterday. That little shit Joffrey," Jon sputtered. "He … he …" the eyes clenched tight again, trying to hide from the heart ache, the impossible loss, "cut off father's head. Ohhhhhh. Ohhhhh," the boy wailed.

Nature abhors a vacuum. Rage, overwhelming rage, and torment too, rushed in to cover every fiber of the stunned, hurt man's being. "Aaaaaaahooooooooooooooooo!" Lohgun the Wildling howled. "Aaaaaaahooooooooooooooooo!" the Badger of the North bayed.

A moment later, Ghost tilted back his head and opened his mouth. "Aaaaaaahooooooooooooooooo!" the direwolf yowled, joining the wild cry of grief.

"Aaaaaaahooooooooooooooooo!" cried Grey Wind.

"Aaaaaaahooooooooooooooooo!"

"Aaaaaaahooooooooooooooooo!"

"Aaaaaaahooooooooooooooooo!"

"Aaaaaaahooooooooooooooooo!"

Not knowing why, all the wolves of the Whispering Wood joined the mournful, angry, vengeance filled salute to Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Beloved of the Old Gods, Honor Personified. Winter was coming. Joffrey Lannister just didn't realize it yet.

* * *

"Lohgun?! Lohgun?!"

"Hunh? What?"

"You alright?" Jon asked.

"Of course I am," he snarled angrily.

Jon's lifted an eyebrow and a corner of a lip in wry amusement. "Cause you're the fucking Badger?"

"Damned right, cause I'm the … ," Lohgun's snarl turned into an embarrassed grimace. "Oh fuck you, boy!"

Jon laughed, and then put on an exaggerated posh, southerner accent. "Seriously my Lord Tumbledown, I called your esteemed name several times and you failed to answer. I worry for your knightly virtue in the coming melee."

"Worry about your own ugly hide, squirt." He pointed at Jon's face. "And that's really ugly. Be sure to have Riverrun's maester look at it after we bust our way in."

The Bastard of Winterfell gently stroked around the angry, sewn up gash on his right cheek. "Well you know ugly, Badger. Though I was thinking I'd grow a beard to hide the scar."

"That'd be better," the wildling agreed. "And a lot better than what Harlon Cassel, Owen Norrey, Dorren Flint, and Patrek Mallister got; may the Old Gods watch over their souls."

"Or Theon," added Jon.

"Aye, Balon Greyjoy won't appreciate discovering he has a one armed son, now will he?" the Badger said sardonically.

Jon snickered before saying, "Nor the Lannisters, when they find out the Kingslayer has no hands at all."

A grin shown on Lohgun's face. "A pity my claws did so much damage to his golden forearm that the barber had to make it a match to the one Robb lopped off. However will he be able to take a piss, do you think?"

Ghost growled and got to his feet.

"Ahh, it appears Lord Brax's camp is realizing something's up on the other side of the Tumblestone. Let's hope the old fool does something stupid." 'Be safe Blackfish, be safe,' the wildling prayed.

* * *

The commander of the western camp besieging Riverrun did in fact meet the Badger's expectation of what the gentlemanly art of war could accomplish. In the dark, on boats of undoubtedly dubious construction, while wearing heavy armor, the mailed fist of Lord Brax's knightly forces committed the unforgiveable sin of trying to cross a swift flowing water into the face of strong opposition. Idiots! Alas, whoever was left behind in charge of the half trained levies and remaining, sane men-at-arms had already started to form up his troops in a shield wall behind the ditch marking the outer edge of the encampment.

The few fully plated lances available to the Northerners led both columns charging to barrel into the Westerlanders before they could set themselves to receive. Perhaps spooked by the thousands of beating hooves around them, or maybe driven by the instinct to find and cut out the weakest of the herd, both Ghost and Grey wind peeled away from the strong column Robb led and sought their own place to attack and rend the enemy. 'Good idea,' the Badger thought, and he too nudged his mount out of line and into the no man's land between the column of Northerners and column of Riverlanders eagerly rushing forward. Blond haired Shooty, his mountain clan born squire, promptly followed and soon after that his three score Tumbledown Tower fighters.

The crash of armored destrier against shield wall generated a huge din. Parts of the first two lines crumpled. The third, and weakest, bent, but mostly held. Riders, horses, and spearmen toppled to the earth, choking the field, ditch, and battle lines with debris. With both columns, the mounted warriors following behind began to pull up and slough off to the side of the column or risk entangling themselves with the fallen. Progress forward slowed and even stalled in places, especially as Westerland reserves rushed to close the breakthroughs.

But not in the middle, Grey Wind and Ghost, despite their size, snuck heads beneath and between shields to savage poorly protected limbs and cause panic among the smallfolk turned warriors who never imagined such terrifying creatures existed in the Seven Kingdoms. Adding to that beastly mayhem, the Badger flung himself and his claws into the mess, choosing in his passionate need for vengeance to forgo his curved swords so that he might more personally experience their deaths.

Claws tore flesh, sliced open boiled leather armor, ripped apart shields, caught spears and polearms seeking to skewer him. The direwolves slashed bellies, spilled guts, broke bones, and tossed men like chickens. The stabbing swords and hewing axes of the Badger's loyal collection of northern black sheep methodically, remorselessly rained down death on those in the middle unwilling to flee. Soon more and more northerners joined the impromptu assault. Lohgun flashed a feral, satisfied grin when he spotted Robb and Jon, brothers, side by side slashing at the edges of the widening gap in the line.

"Da-da-dummmmmm! Da-da-dummmmmm!" Creeeeeeeaak! The portcullis to Riverrun stirred. Horns blared from the Gate Tower of the impressive castle. The Tully's wished to come out and take their pound of flesh before the Lannister banner's collapsed completely.

But of that the Badger hardly noticed. Blood lust flowed through his veins. His wounds, gashes quickly reduced to mere cuts and cuts turned to pinpricks, slowed him not a bit. A halberd swung over the top of a foeman caught the claws on his upraised right hand, snapping off the unarmored bone from two of them. The Badger howled his anguish and climbed like and animal over the foeman, leaving behind a punctured face and skull, in order to come at the polearm wielder. Claws flashed, blood sprayed, Lohgun licked his lips, enjoying the taste. Scores of men now broke and ran in defeat, all the easier for the Badger to now chase and slaughter.

"Yield!"

The hand swiped, slicing through flesh and veins and cartilage. Now only blood bubbled out of lips that a second before had begged for mercy. His fury drove him on and on and on. They killed Ned. They would know no peace, but death.


	14. BACK 2 - Scene 4

Willam had provided a small remuda to speed Lohgun's return to Winterfell. The only times he stopped to rest were to accommodate the tiredness of the horses or when his brain started to grow a tad foggy. When a particular mount showed signs of wearing out, he'd gift it to the next farmstead he passed by. When his black garron with three white slash marks on her flanks, the one he'd taken all the way to Pyke, pulled up lame one morning, Lohgun had felt enough regret in handing her over to the smallfolk crofter that he'd passed along a small handful of silvers and coppers while ordering the man to take good care of her, or else. All-in-all, his seemingly limitless endurance, and the extra horses, let him cover the near five hundred mile journey from Barrowton, half of which thankfully happened on the Kingsroad, in under ten days.

The sun showed an hour or two past its zenith when the dual, eighty and hundred foot walls of Winterfell at last, dreadfully, came into view. Not wanting any possible distractions to slow him from what fate would deliver, he left the road before it passed through the Winter Town and made straight for the southern gate. Whether his distinctive muttonchops and thick, wiry black hair gave him away, or the fact he wore a cape made of Badger skins, the pair of guards manning the entrance to the outer wall were already grinning goofily by the time he drew up to them. Happy sentries meant a happy Lord Eddard; the wildling took that as a good sign.

"Ho, Badger! Welcome back," called a slightly chubby guard.

"Ho, Tom. Missed you on Pyke. Your looking a bit fat, is that why Ned left you behind?" he called back.

The seasoned warrior gave a jolly laugh. "No, t'was the servin' wimen. They raised such a ruckus when Lord Eddard choose me ta go, well he regrettably told me to stay behind and look after their wanton needs."

"And how'd that work out for you then, Tom?"

The other sentry cut in, "Well enough, 'cept he still complains his cock burns when he takes a piss."

"Doesn't Maester Luwin have an ointment or something for that?" Lohgun inquired.

Tom flashed a toothy grin. "That he does. And I've got three scullery maids who enjoy applying it."

"All at the same time?" the wildling hooted, causing both guards to laugh so hard they needed to wipe away tears. Finally convinced the pair wouldn't actually fall to the ground, Lohgun offered his farewell, "we'll drink a round or two soon enough Tom." And he clucked his mount and spare horse into the archway of the outer wall, over the moat, and through the even taller second wall into the huge courtyard. Winterfell.

He pulled the reins to the left and passed around the Smithy, a steady, metallic beat at only one anvil filling the air. A typical day's hustle and bustle of people at work in the castle flowed around him. Most ignored him, too busy on their errands or drudgery, while a few noticed the Badger and gave a cheery waive. 'Better and better,' he thought, steering toward the nearest end of the stables.

"Horses arriving!" the wildling called out. He dismounted just outside the hay strewn structure, before leading two horses, both larger than the norm for him, within. His eyes adjusted almost instantly, and he began searching through the murk for his favorite stableboy. "Hodor!?" he shouted. There was something about the enormous man child that soothed the Badger's easily roused temper. Maybe the fact that the guileless, barely communicative colossus simply accepted him for him, and didn't, or maybe just couldn't, express any particular interest in Lohgun; not like most people who were either scared of him or wanted something from him.

"Hodor, Hodor," said the simpleminded giant, coming out of a nearby stall to take the reins of both Lohgun's horses.

"That's right, Hodor," the Badger answered kindly. "Give them a good rub down first, and then see that they gets some oats, alright?"

"Piotr," the stableboy answered.

Lohgun blinked hard. "What?" he asked, quite startled.

The gentle giant gazed down at him with his usual look of childlike innocence. "Hodor?"

Lohgun blinked hard again, still unsettled. "Never mind. Go ahead now Hodor, do your job."

"Hodor," the stableboy repeated, smiling happily, and then he tugged softly on the reins to have the horses follow him deeper into the stable to find a free pair of stalls.

'Odd,' he thought, slowly tilting his neck from side to side. Suddenly the Badger jerked his neck hard to the right. Crack! The physical tightness built during the day's ride, and likely the emotional tension building from his heavy sense of guilt, started to drain away. He began to whistle softly as he left the stables and headed across the courtyard to search for Cat and Ned.

"Lohgun!" "Lohgun!" a pair of voices shouted out. Two balls of six year old boyish energy came hurtling at him.

He dropped to his knees, laughing as he gathered them both in tight and started rubbing the unruly mops on top of their heads. "Robb! Jon! I missed you. How are my little warriors?"

They giggled. "Great!" "Great!" Then they started chanting, "Show us! Show us! Show us!"

"Have you been good?"

"Yes!" "Yes!"

"Playing with Sansa?"

"She's a girl!" "She's too little!" "She don't like playing with swords!" "Show us!" "Show us!"

"Oh alright," he drawled, trying to sound reluctant. Snickt!

"Oooooohhhh!" "Aahhhhhhhhhhh!" "Come here Theon, come look at the Badger's claws!"

Lohgun raised his head and saw a slightly older boy, nine or ten, with a sullen face, walking trepidatiously toward him, a small bow clutched tight in one hand.

"Lohgun, this is Theon, my new friend," Robb announced cheerfully. "Father brought Theon home with him so he could foster with me. Isn't that great? Theon's teaching me how to shoot a bow and arrow. He's really, really good with it."

"Oh, he's not so good," Jon refuted, a hint of jealousy in his tone.

"Hello Theon, a pleasure to see you again. You might not remember me, but I was at Pyke with Lord Eddard and the King," the wildling said pleasantly enough.

The sullen face, turned to a scowl. "I know you," he accused. "You killed Dagmer!"

The Cleftjaw had fought prodigiously during the landing at Lordsport and again on the walls of Pyke Castle. The Badger's katana had caught the Ironborn just below the rim of his nasal helm and taken the top of his head off. Lohgun nodded his head slowly and gravely in agreement. "I did."

Young Theon reached for a bolt sized arrow in the quiver hanging off his back. "Then I'll kill you," he declared.

The wildling started to push Robb and Jon behind his back when an authoritative voice filled the courtyard. "Young Lord! Remember yourself!" declared Maester Luwin.

"I'll pay the iron price and make a necklace of those claws."

With surprising speed the small grey robed man reached the recalcitrant child and grabbed his shoulder. "This is Winterfell, not Pyke. You are Lord Eddard's ward, you will obey his laws and not bring disgrace down upon your House," the maester said sternly. "Lord Robb, Jon Snow," he continued, now addressing the brothers," be so kind as to take young Lord Theon here to the Godswood. Some quiet contemplation on the knightly laws of honor, duty, and compassion appear in order."

"Awww!" "Do we have to?"

"Yes, and your response to my request shows such contemplation will do the both of you good as well."

"C'mon Theon," said Robb, suddenly breaking into a run. "Race you there!"

An insolent grin appeared on the older boy's face. "As if you could beat me pipsqueak!" And off he went.

"I'll be surprised if any quiet contemplation occurs, Maester Luwin."

A small, kind smile creased the grey man's face as he followed the footrace of his young pupils. "Me either. The Greyjoy lad is proving a handful so far." The Maester sighed and then drew himself erect, giving an illusion of extra height and power to his slight frame. "And a pleasure to see you returned to Winterfell, Lohgun. Have any of your old memories returned to you?"

The Badger laughed. "You've asked me that for the six years you've been at Winterfell? Why do you keep bothering?"

"Time, it is said, heals all wounds. And since blows to the skull have been known to both block and return a person's recollections of his life … well … with the recent threat from the Greyjoys …"

Lohgun laughed even further, "You were hoping some strapping ironman had given my brains a good bashing?"

Maester Luwin had the decency to appear bashful. "Well, no … not as such, exactly." He cleared his throat. "I should return to my duties. Is there some service I may provide to you before I go?"

The wildling smiled, he'd always made the kindly maester a bit nervous, but the question he asked put butterflies in his stomach. "Can you direct me to Ned? or Lady Catelyn?"

Maester Luwin cocked his eyes into the air in thought. A hand reached up to tug at his collar, causing it to glimmer in reflected sunlight. "Lord Stark … is in the Winter Town, checking on the efficacy of some newly excavated underground silos, since it rained last night. And Lady Catelyn … is praying in the Sept.

"Thank you Maester Luwin. It's good to see you again."

"And you, Ser."

* * *

He stepped silently into the modest seven sided building. There she knelt, praying before the image of the _Mother_ painted on the wall. To Lohgun, she would always be the _Maiden_. Since he first caught sight of her seven years earlier, in the company of poor Brandon at Riverrun, she was the _Maiden_. Her reddish-brown hair drew his attention, like a moth enrapture by a flame. It cascaded over the top of the grey cloak that tried, but failed, to hide her lithe figure. Her subtle flower infused scent, with a hint of mother's milk and a girl babe, filled his nostrils. He breathed her in deeply. His eyes greedily drank the vision of her. His mind brought back the memory of her how her taut, silky skin felt as he caressed a hand across her naked belly, up swelled breasts, and hardened nipples. His insides stirred, hardened, and melted all at the same time. He swallowed hard, though no moisture coated his mouth and throat. Time slowed, stood still.

"Cat," he croaked at last.

Her back stiffened at his voice. Stiffly, awkwardly, she stood and turned slowly around. A baby, resting in a sling, hung from her front; lips attached to and occasionally suckling from a perfect breast.

"Lohgun," she answered in a low, dangerous voice.

"I heard the morning we left Seagard that you were with child."

Her eyes narrowed. A thunderstorm brewed on her brow.

"Eight months. Eight guilt wracked months I waited. Knowing the dishonor, and fearing the results. Eight months waiting to be destroyed. To see if I destroyed Ned."

Angry heat puffed into life inside him. 'What of me?' he snarled. 'Was I not worthy?' He bit back on the hurt, the impossibility of it all. "I'm … I'm sorry," you replied a tad too brusquely.

"Sorry? What does any man know of the sorrow of infidelity? When I realized I missed my time I brewed moon tea. I sat up all night looking at the cup. Was it Ned's? Was it yours? For a fortnight I didn't sleep! Every night I brewed a cup and stared at it."

"I'm … I'm sorry," he stupidly repeated, but at least this time with meaning. "Did anyone … guess?"

A bitter smile swept across her beautiful, full ruby lips. "There are only so many times you can ask Maester Luwin for tansy and pennyroyal. But he never said a word. Only hummed to himself and tugged nervously at his chain while he dug through the appropriate jars. And then I stopped asking for it. The Gods would grant me what they would I decided. So I waited … eight months. Eight months!" Finally a sweet smile flitted by. "And then she came."

"May I see her?" he asked tremulously.

Cat thought long and hard. Lohgun barely breathed. She looked down at the black haired child nuzzled to her bosom. "Alright," she declared. The babe napped on the teat. Cat snuck a pinkie into the side of her tiny mouth, breaking the latch, revealing an engorged nipple oozing a single drop of milk. The baby squirmed, unhappy to be taken off her source of comfort and turned her head, revealing, even for an infant, a long, horsey face.

'Ned. She looks like Ned.' Relief and desolation both coursed through him; no visible sign of his betrayal existed, but neither did any visible sign of his love.

"We named her Arya," Cat declared.

He'd had the name from Will, but kept it to himself, simply saying, "A good name. An honorable name."

The thunderstorm broke, "Honorable?" she spat. "I'm a Tully. Our words are 'Family, Duty, Honor!' Those words choke me like dust now. I'm empty inside now. Empty!"

"I'm sorry, I never should have …"

"Ha!" she barked. "_You_ never should have … I, _I_ never should have. _I_ am the Lady of Winterfell. There is very, very little that anyone can make _me_ do."

Her words confused him. He didn't know how to respond. "What do you want?"

"I want my honor back!"

Lohgun's skull ached. "Do you want to tell Ned, then?" he asked tentatively.

"Gods you're so thick, Lohgun! You really are a wildling. A great magnificent beast with no more sense than the Seven gave a block of ice," she spit disgustedly.

He drew himself up, afraid of the answer he might hear. "What do you want me to do?"

The storm crashed over him "I want you to leave. Leave Winterfell. Oh sup with Ned tonight, he'll want to see you, but come up with some excuse, I don't care how lame, and just go, damn you, just go!" Cat's tiny fists started to pound out her frustration on Lohgun's chest, her auburn hair swaying to the staccato beat. The sudden movements rocking the baby awake with a startled, unhappy cry.

Lohgun grabbed her wrists, imprisoning them within his large, thick hands. "Stop it Cat, stop it," he whispered. He watched her anguished face, tears welled up beneath her beautiful blue eyes.

"For the love you bear Ned. For the love you bear _me_. Never, ever, come to me alone again. And only come to Winterfell, except when Ned, as your liege lord, demands your presence. Do you understand me Lohgun? Never again. Never again! I'd kill myself."

* * *

The fire crackled in Ned's private office. While the Badger was heading north on the Kingsroad, a white raven had arrived in Winterfell, announcing the start of autumn. Winter is coming. Cold fingers had already started to latch their icy hold on to the North with each day's setting sun.

"Why must you leave so soon, Lohgun? You've just arrived. I need you close, my friend."

"Pshhh," he stated. "With the Greyjoys thrown down so easily, who is going to dare challenge Robert's rule? Dorne? No, Ned, there'll be little reason to call your banners for a good long time. And should you, well, where ever the wind rustles through the trees, I'll hear you Ned. My blades will always be there to protect you, to protect your family."

Grey eyes peered out of his long Stark face, weighing the Badger's words. Ned's lips pursed. "Still, you mean to wander again? The North is large, but you've roamed it for years already. What more is there to see?"

Lohgun scratched his overlong side whiskers. "I might go back to the Wall for a while. Benjen's playing ranger there, maybe he could use a wildling to teach him how to really track?"

Ned put on his Lord Stark face. "The Night's Watch is an honorable duty." A wry smile crossed his face. "Not thinking of taking vows are you?"

The Badger scoffed. "Even with whores in Mole's Town, I like using my cock too much to become a brother."

Ned rubbed his own facial hair. "You could do me a small service, instead. Not an easy service, it would take years and your full devotion."

Lohgun's eyes narrowed. "You're not tricking me stay in Winterfell. It's a dingy little place you got here Ned, but with more people and noise than I can take for very long."

Ned smiled. "Oh, I'm thinking of something more rustic, Badger. There are empty holdings out in the Wolfswood."

The wildling gaped in surprise.

"I'll even pay the reconstruction costs and arrange for crofters," the Lord of Winterfell continued.

"You want me to be a poxy lordling?" the Badger exclaimed.

"How does the Lord of Tumbledown Tower sound to you?"


	15. FORWARD 1 - Scene 7

In the end, or at least so he was told, as his memory was always hazy and his brain inevitably a kettle drum of pounding pain after a berserker rage, it took a score and a half of men with shields, Jon Snow assisted by Ghost, and the Greatjon to contain Lohgun after the foe between him and Riverrun's moat broke and yielded. For a long while the wildling's bloody body lay in the mud, the direwolf occasionally licking the gore off him like some gruesome treat, and he watched the siege towers turned enormous torches burn through the night. Around him Northerners and Riverlanders slowly brought order out of the chaos; securing the Westerlander encampment, herding and looting the captured Lannister bannermen, tending the wounded, stacking and looting the dead, tending the horses, drinking pilfered spirits, laying claim to nobles worth a ransom, eating, rejoicing, mourning, gambling, praying, crying. At last Lohgun bestirred himself, sitting up and stretching; a battle won did not make a war. The young lord had done well, but someone with a trained eye needed to watch over him.

"Where's Robb?" he asked.

"Inside Riverrun. Paying his respects and hopefully finding how much help we can expect from our allies," Jon answered.

"We need to make sure ravens fly to Fairmarket and the Twins. Roose needs to get moving if we're to trap the gold shitter; and, we haven't had heard word from Willam in three days," the Badger complained as he stood up.

"Relax Lohgun, someone'll take care of it." Jon Snow replied casually, looking up at his mentor. "Besides, the birds won't fly until daylight."

"This isn't a game, boy, this is war. A war we need to win if Ned is to get justice," the wildling snarled.

A scowled immediately slipped on to the youth's face. "He was my father,"Jon challenged.

"Then come on," Lohgun said, lowering a helping hand, "Do your duty and make him proud."

They clasped hands and the Badger helped lift the bastard to his feet. Without a word they tromped across the hells strewn landscape toward the wood planks offering the only way over the moat and into the bastion of the Tullys, Riverrun.

* * *

At dawn, horns blew from the other side of the Red Fork, in the only Lannister stronghold left untouched by the night's assault. From behind the parapet atop Riverrun's sandstone wall, which he shared with the Lord of Winterfell and a smattering of lords, Lohgun watched a force of infantry, cavalry, and camp followers begin to march out of the palisades. They headed east beneath the Red Ox banner of the Prester's towards the River Road and presumably the safety of Tywin Lannister's host which lay beyond the Trident.

"How many?" Robb asked.

"Four thousand foot, my lord," Tytos Blackwood answered. "Evenly mixed between spear and bow; and say half a thousand horse, mostly Tyroshi freeriders."

"Is Lord Medger still guarding the near ford?" the young lord queried.

"Yes, my lord. With a hundred or so," Perwyn Frey replied.

The Lord of Winterfell nodded at his personal companion. "Ser Perwyn, please inform his lordship he is to cross the Red Fork and shadow. Only shadow, mind you, these Westerlanders. And ask Lord Jason to have his eagles cover the perimeter. I dare say his discipline is probably better right now than the Greatjon's," he ended with a terse chuckle.

A haggard, petulant Edmure Tully interrupted to announce a grievance, "Nephew, the Mallisters are _my_ banners for _me_ to command. I ask that you kindly remember that," he said haughtily.

Ned's imposing mask of ice instantly slid naturally over Robb's features at the challenge. "Go, Perwyn," he told his designated messenger, and another Tully bannerman. The young man saluted and darted off. The Lord of Winterfell then turned to address his potential rival for command. "And a good thing too, Uncle, that your loyal Mallisters, and _Freys_ as well, choose to join _me_ in coming to _your_ rescue. We rejoice in the great victory earned against the vile Lannisters by our combined force of arms. A victory that freed both _you_ and Riverrun. A victory which could not have been won without _your_ banners."

"Yes, and …" Edmure started to say.

Robb cut off his uncle ruthlessly. "Yet Tywin Lannister still leads a great army across the Riverlands, _your_ lands. I mean to destroy him, make no mistake about it, Uncle, justice demands it; but I shall need your full hearted support to do so. Can _you_ grant _me_ that?"

"I … that is to say … my …" the Tully heir stuttered uncertainly.

"Without nitpicking? Or searching my every order looking for some hidden slight?"

"Well, nooooo … of course not," Edmure hastily agreed. "But a lord has the Gods given right to be heard," he insisted, his tone significantly less strident than before.

A faint smile poked through his icy visage, for Robb knew he had cowed the older man into accepting a subordinate position to his own, "Certainly. And why would I not listen to such sage council? Your banners will be my right hand, my sword arm to slay the Lion."

"Here, here," agreed Tytos Blackwood, an echo quickly taken up by the other lordlings present.

Edmure turned slightly pink, embarrassed, knowing that he'd yielded to the steel reflected in Robb's voice and ice blue eyes. "Thank you my lord, I could ask for no higher consideration," he conceded. "Ahem," he cleared his throat. "Would you care see whether my father, Lord Hoster, is able to receive visitors?"

Robb's faint smile grew openly gracious. "Hard it is to discover my grandfather suffers such grievous ills. Happily will I pay him homage. But a moment first, my lord Uncle, if you please?"

The Heir of Riverrun politely nodded his agreement to the request.

"Harrion, find a boat, perhaps Ser Robin could aid you and see the Water Gate raised too. Go find your lord father and let him know of your brother Torrhen's injuries," Robb ordered, before quickly turning to another of his personal companions. "Jonos," he told a young scion of House Condon, "go across the Tumblestone with Harrion, and find my Uncle Brynden. Discover the number of our casualties and how many Westerlanders he captured. And I'll want to know how soon my lady mother and Lord Hornwood's train of wounded and captured will arrive. Get back to me by mid-day. Go."

The two warriors saluted and left.

"Lohgun?" Robb asked.

"Yes, my Lord?" responded the Lord of Tumbledown Tower.

"Find out the same from Lord Mallister and Lord Umber."

"Aye," the wildling agreed and strode off down the walkway toward the nearest wall tower.

"Thank you dear uncle," Robb said. "Please take me to my grandfather."

* * *

Lohgun reported back first. A little over a hundred and a quarter Northerners and Riverlanders had died in the encampment outside Riverrun's moat; along with close to three hundred having received wounds of varying degrees. The Lannister totaled around four hundred dead and over three thousand captured, of whom at least five hundred were wounded. The Westerlander stores captured intact, and a fair amount had been spoiled or burnt because of the battle, would more than feed Robb's army when it headed for the Trident. After relaying the information, the Badger took station, per usual, on the periphery surrounding the Lord of Winterfell, next to Jon Snow and Ghost. While he petted the direwolf, his young friend brought him up to speed on Robb's activities and such not. The only piece of news that brought a chuckle to the wildling was that the ravens sent to Walder Frey announcing the twin victories of Whispering Woods and the Camps, also requested most firmly that the ancient Lord of the Crossing now send his fair daughters Alyx, Walda, Roslin, Arwyn, and Tyta Frey to Riverrun so that Lord Hoster might witness their marriages to the eager Northern grooms.

A little before the sun reached its zenith, Jonos Condon returned with the results of the fight north of the Tumbledown. Five hundred dead Lannister banners and twelve hundred wounded out of near four thousand captured. Brynden Tully, Rickard Karstark, and the old weasel Stevron Frey gave the northern casualties as over one hundred and fifty dead and five hundred wounded. Young Lord Robb ultimately proved less interested in the scope of his tremendous victory than in hearing his mother would arrive in Riverrun before the sun set. Noticing his lord's distraction, Galbert Glover took the lead in returning the general discussion to how quickly Lord Edmure could reconstitute the strength of the Riverlands and how much of it he could add to help cork the bottle Robb intended to trap Tywin Lannister in.

A little past noon, Rhaegar Frey, who rode with his goodfather-to-be, Medger Cerwyn, trotted up to the main gate in the company of a Tyroshi. The four hundred or so freeriders who had departed to the east with Ser Forley Prester that morning had had a change of heart and wished to change their allegiance to a different purse owner. Lord Stark readily accepted their change of allegiance, knowing full well that he'd break the mounted sell swords into penny packets and distribute them throughout the wings of his army.

* * *

The rusty portcullis of the Water Gate raised slowly, and almost before enough clearance registered above the fast flowing river outside, a smallish boat, rowers stroking hard, shot through the gap, under the arch, and through the wall into the calm of the harbor built inside the giant castle. The precious cargo being delivered included the Lady Catelyn, Brynden Tully, and Lord Rickard Karstark. Tully guards stood on the water steps leading into the water, holding hooks, ready to secure the boat. Robb, with Grey Wind at his side, and Edmure waited atop the quay. The boat rocked slightly as it ground against stone and haulted. The lead boatman tossed a belaying line and then squeaked, falling backwards between the rowers; for the direwolf had decided to give his greeting first and had leapt down the steps, hind legs braced on the lowest stair and fore paws resting on the edge of the bow.

Cat appeared unfazed and stepped over the downed man so that Grey Wind could sniff and lick at her chin. Robb at last called his wolf back and Edmure stepped down, getting his feet wet, to lift his sister out of the boat. Aground, the siblings hugged fiercely.

"Your grief is mine," he whispered in her ear. "The Lannisters will pay in blood for Lord Eddard, Cat, I promise you. He shall have justice."

Her hands tugged at her brother even harder, knuckles going white. "Will that bring him back to me?!" she hissed angrily. "No, it will not!"

They separated, Edmure befuddled by her response and Cat working to hide the anger from having the raw wound rubbed yet again.

Her brother stepped back, sweeping an arm towards Robb, "Your lord son, my lady."

Lohgun could clearly see that her body yearned to rush up and embrace her eldest child out of love, out of relief that he still lived, but she drew a breath, fighting the wetness that shone in her large, beautiful blue eyes and bowed. "My lord, as a mother, I am proud to see you victorious and joyous to see you unhurt."

The child in Robb that still sought his mother's approval clearly puffed up at her praise. He extended a hand to her, raising her back up, and lightly kissed her cheek. "Welcome to Riverrun," he declared. "And to you as well Lord Rickard and Ser Brynden," he added, addressing the two warriors who had just stepped out of the boat on to the water stair as well.

"Thank you, it has been too long. And now, if you will forgive me, I must go see my father," said Catelyn.

"Lord Hoster will rejoice to see you, for sure," responded Robb, stepping back to give her room to pass.

"You've seen him?" she asked.

Robb nodded gravely. "In his solar, but with the sun setting, he's likely gone back to his bedroom." The youth then smiled sadly, "I … I have his eyes."

"Would you … accompany me," she requested hesitantly, moved by a swirling whirlwind of emotion. "Or perhaps Edmure?"

"I shall take you my lady," announced Utherydes Wayn, her father's steward. "Interesting news has arrived and the lords wish to discuss the import of it."

'Not too much if I can help it,' the Badger thought. 'We need to keep moving. Get there firstest with the mostest.'

Concern flashed across Cat's face. "What? Have the Lannister's discovered our ruse?"

"No the plan goes well. I hope to have word tomorrow from Roose Bolton, and the day after that from the Twins. I mean to leave here in three days with anyone who can ride," Robb said with the certainty of youth.

"Then what?" Catelyn wondered, obviously perplexed.

"Lord Renly has declared himself King," Edmure proclaimed.

"In King's Landing?"

"No," said Robb. "In the Reach. It appears he's wed a daughter of Highgarden."

"But what of Stannis?" the Blackfish spouted. "He's the elder brother."

Robb chuckle held a hint of evil and anticipation. "The more the merrier to distract the Lannisters. As Lord Tumbledown told me earlier, we can worry about who sits the Iron Throne once the Direwolf has slain the Lion and all its pride."

Shouts of agreement met Lord Stark's words.


	16. BACK 2 - Scene 5

The morning after receiving Ned's stunning gift, Lohgun rode out of Winterfell's stable in the company of brave Martyn Cassel's son Jory, Harl Paige the junior steward, Dougal the woodsmen, Quent Burley the mason, and Fell the logger. Three extra ponies carried the supplies and tents they'd need to live on until the full work crew Ned promised arrived at the ruined tower. Slowly crossing the courtyard he watched the steward, Vayon Poole, and Maester Luwin at work assigning and managing the day's work for many of the castle's craftsmen and simple laborers. The wildling hoped much of the activity revolved around arranging the men, carts, food, tools, and materials that were supposed to follow after him in a week's time.

"Ho, Badger!" Tom called, stepping out of the shadow of the Library tower to keep pace with the short man's slowly ambling mount.

"Don't your ugly hide have duty?" he asked.

"Ahup, got the North Gate today with One Thumb. Now there's an ugly bastard. He can hold it himself for a minute I figure," Tom answered smugly.

"Then why you bothering me Tom?"

"Word travels fast in the castle. I wanted to say congrats, yer high and mighty lordship." The Winterfell guard swept an exaggerated bow over his just noticeable paunch at the Badger.

Lohgun unleashed a rude sound, causing his five companions and Tom to chuckle. "You sweetening me up bub, so's to ask to head my banners?"

Tom returned a similar rude sound. "And freeze my bored balls off in the back of nowhere?" he scoffed. "Hells, no, I like Winter Town too much for that!" and the guard grabbed meaningfully at his cod for emphasis. "But I did ask Lord Eddard if I could head up the work crew when it heads out to the Wolfswood."

"And did our lord lose the mind the Old Gods gave him?" Quent challenged from behind the wildling.

A smile spread across the man's chubby cheeks. "That he rightly did," Tom announced proudly.

"Well, you might finally do an honest day's work then," Jory Cassel, lieutenant of Winterfell's guards jested, earning some chuckles.

"Could be, could be," Tom declared, pretending an air of thoughtfulness.

"I'll look forward to seeing you there Tom," Lohgun said and snapped a quick salute. He clucked his teeth and gently prodded spurs to increase his horse's gait. "Just don't be late," he called.

The Badger's five companions increased the pace of their horses too. As Dougal rode past Tom he leaned down and added, "Don't get lost pudding head."

"Damned arse!" Tom swore cheerfully after him.

* * *

They passed through the East Gate and into Winter Town to pick up the Kingsroad. The autumn chill lasted the several hours during which they travelled north on the well-worn avenue, trotting past hamlets and mostly open farmlands, all pledged directly to House Stark. With the sun near its zenith, the trees of the Wolfswood had edged noticeably closer to the road, and occasional separate stands of trees met it directly. Soon a cart track broke off the road heading northwesterly into the forest.

"This'un," Dougal muttered and took the lead in heading the small group on to the man-made trail.

Within an hour they entered the Wolfswood proper, an oak and elm and beach and evergreen shaded world of leaves, branches, and thick trunks only sparsely interrupted by meadows and leas. Near dusk the track began to curve more to true west than northwest. Not long after the woodsmen called a halt and pointed to the north. "There's a trapper's hut beyond that rise of soldier pines.

The wind shifted, the Badger sniffed the air. "Smoke, cooking meat," he said.

"I'd pay a copper for some fresh game instead of eating the smoked jerky we brought," Quent announced.

Fell chuckled. "They'd rather swap for a knife or a wool shirt afore they'd ask about coin."

They spent a pleasant evening with a hard scrabbled hunter and his two sons. An ermine and two rabbits cost them only a skinning knife and a share of a wineskin. And in the morning Lohgun knew word of a new lord for Tumbledown Tower would start to spread through the wood.

Dougal soon found the overgrown remains of the path that broke straight north toward their destination. There was usually enough room between the towering trees that the low growth didn't slow the horse much. The biggest delay was Fell's notching of the forest's sentinels to mark them for cutting. The loggers as part of the work party to follow them in a week would need to widen the path enough for carts. They broke out tents for the second night. Wind through the trees and sleet hitting the canvas gave them a lullaby to drift off to sleep with.

* * *

By the time they finished breaking their fast, the slushy remains of the night's icy precipitation had all melted into the leaf, pine, and moss covered floor of the forest. They all loaded up their gear and mounted, the only ones doing any complaining, little though it actually was, were the mason, Quent, and the steward Harl. Lohgun, Jory, Dougal, and Fell, all veteran outdoorsman, exuded superior grins at the discomforts and trials of their softer companions.

The morning proceeded smoothly; Dougal shooting a doe at one point and Fell relentlessly marking which behemoths needed chopping down. The so called trail passed by ponds and through streams, only a few of which would require bridges to allow carts or wagons over. When they curved around a small lake nestled between several small hills and started following along the meandering crook that fed the basin, the trees of the Wolfswood began to thin and not tower so high. This stand was new growth, at least in Northern terms, since it was likely less than five hundred years old.

The six men entered a meadow. At the far end a boulder strewn mound rose fifty feet above the brush and grass filled lea. A mile beyond that, back in the returning forest, flinty, cliff marked hills rose three or four hundred feet high. This was the site. They rode closer to their goal, no one speaking. The stub of a tower, hardly more than a man's height, sat precariously atop the middle of the mound. The ivy and moss covered boulders were the large stones of the modest keep that time and weather had tumbled back down to the earth.

They dismounted and climbed, scrabbled their way to the top. Each one gazing around, taking in the messy, jumble.

Finally, Fell whistled to break the silence.

Dougal shrugged.

"She's a shabby bitch," Quent pronounced.

"That is gonna to take a fucking lot of work," Harl agreed.

"Winter is coming," Jory predictably announced.

"No shit!" the Badger agreed with all the above. "Let's look about."

"Thought we was a doin' it a'ready," Fell grumbled.

"Quit bitching before I take your axe and knock your big block head in with it," the Badger said with mock menace.

"Over here," called Quent, who'd already stepped inside the remains of the tower. "Stairs going down."

They crept one by one down the partially rubble strewn stairs and found an ironwood door in passable condition half open.

"Boar scat," Dougal declared.

Lohgun sniffed. "Years old," he declared. Nevertheless, he took precautions. Snickt! "Fell, push back the door," he ordered.

Creak! The rusty hinges protested the hard shove the logger gave it, one even crumbled apart.

They all peered in, the outside light that reached the tower cellar turning the darkness grey and shadowy.

"Not bad," Harl pronounced staring up at the vaulted ceiling, judging how big and damaged the space was.

"Looks sound," the mason declared.

"Nothing hard work can't fix, right bubs?" said the Badger.

* * *

Lohgun grunted. The A-frame of the crane creaked from the strain.

"One more turn," Harl shouted encouragingly.

"Hodor," said Hodor cheerfully and heaved on the handles of the winch.

Lohgun grunted again as he pulled on the other end of the winch that stretched three feet off the ground between the two thick beams making up the A- frame. Sweat dripped down his naked chest and steam rose off his body into the chill morning air.

"Another!"

"Hodor. Hodor," shouted the stable boy cum crane mule excitedly, not appearing the least bit taxed by the effort. The winch started to turn another rotation.

Lohgun groaned, throwing his strength into it; his muscles burned as they raised two thousand or so pounds of granite twenty feet off the ground with the help of the giant simpleton and a the five pulley crane built atop the newly restored second floor of Tumbledown Tower. The support ropes allowing the beams of the A-frame to incline at an angle hummed softly from the forces stretching the woven strands of hemp.

"Hold it! Hold it!" Harl yelled.

"Shove it boys!" bellowed 'Slender' Tom, the slightly pudgy Winterfell guard turned crew chief.

Four young men rushed in from the sides to lay hands on the thick stone and started rocking it, swinging the big rock first away from the tower face and then letting it arc back over the tower.

"Ready, ready," Harl whispered loudly with anticipation.

The Badger's eyes near floated to the back of his head as he fought against the strain as the heavy, shaped piece of granite swung back and forth.

"Drop it!" the crane supervisor barked.

The wildling and the stable boy released the winch.

"Hands!" 'Slender' Tom screamed at his crew, all four of whom instantly skipped backward.

The stone dropped six inches. A loud 'CRACK' reverberated across the slowly widening space being made in the Wolfswood by the work force from Winterfell. The rock fell into place right beside the mini-boulder they'd raised twenty minutes earlier. All eyes rested on their newest conquest. Tom walked up to it, tapped it, leaned out over the edge of the Tower and glanced at the other side of the stone, tapping it again.

"No cracks," he declared. Everyone on the second floor breathed easier, the effort hadn't been wasted; only one broken rock so far that day. "Come on boys, untie the cradle, then sand it, shimmy it over tight, and sand it again. You know the drill."

Two men leapt forward to take off the ropes that had secure the hunk of granite to the crane. The other pair picked up buckets and waited their turn to throw the sand down to make the new rock slide easier into its finally resting spot.

The Badger thirstily drank the ale from his deer hide wineskin. Hodor just stood there looking pleased with himself.

"Come on ya lazy lowlanders," the voice of Quent Burley called out from down below.

Lohgun stepped to the partially rebuilt wall and peered over the side. The man in charge of providing the stones stood by his team of eight men, each holding a large ironwood lever, at the base of the tower. Another cube shaped piece of granite already waited their attention.

"Sure you don't want to switch jobs," the wildling asked.

A smug look spread across the clansman's plain, weathered face, revealing a gaped tooth grin. "No thanks," Quent answered. "I'm the brains; you're the brawn, don't you remember that little man?"

The Badger hocked a loogie that made the man even more diminutive than Lohgun quickly hop to the side to avoid being splattered. Several shouts of protestation rang like music in the wildling's ears. "You sure it's the right stone to go next?" he asked dubiously.

The northern clansman squinted up at the new made Lord of Tumbledown Tower and swept his hands at the field of rocks, some still moss covered, that lay arrayed around the rapidly rising small keep. "Welllll," he drawled. "T'is a bit of a puzzle figuring which rock would have gone where hundreds of years ago. But luckily for you, one of us has a brain." and the grinning man tapped the side of his thick skull.

"Alright," Lohgun conceded. His eyes then drifted off to scan the immediate, visible portions of the demesne granted him by the Lord of Winterfell. Workers with mattocks, shovels, and large wicker baskets were nearly done with one of the two pits being dug for the underground storage areas. The first timbers for the structure were going in on the corners and flat paving stones waited on the edge to be lowered into the pit once the floor appeared sufficiently levelled. The dirt was carried by the wicker basket hoisting pit mules out to the ringworks that would hold the wooden palisade. Work on the ditch in front of the ringworks had lasted only long enough to outline the raised, oval shaped defensive position as well as provide the first mounding of earth for it.

The clatter of saws and hammers caught his attention next. At least the Wolfswood offered an endless source of timber from which to construct the bailey's workshop, kitchen, water hut, and first storage shed. Maybe by next week the first big dual level warehouse would be complete as well as a barracks; no one particularly enjoyed sleeping in tents with the weather turning; even if a barracks intended to house fifty would be forced to temporarily hold close to two hundred. Everyone had been extremely pleased when the removal of some of the tower's tumbled masonry found around a wet spot revealed not only a modest spring, but a functioning cistern. The clang of metal told Lohgun that the lowest journeyman and senior apprentice which Mikken the blacksmith had sent along with the group were hard at work sharpening tools, making nails and hinges, and improvising together whatever gadget one of the supervisors needed to solve the seemingly endless number of small, but vexing problems that cropped up each day.

Pairs of horses, and actual mules, not the human kind he liked to refer to his workers as, dragged the huge trunks of oaks, firs, ashes, and black briers cut down by the logging crew across the slowly widening expanse of meadow. Though far from a crofter, the wildling estimated by the apparent quality of the soil and the size of the space being etched out of the forest around his incomplete manor, that perhaps a third to a half of the crops Tumbledown Tower would need to survive could be grown here. No crops would be planted this season. Still, he needed skilled crofters, and tough ones too, to take tenancy on his lands. The roadway hewn out of the Wolfswood from the Kingsroad to here would see a farmer hauling his produce by cart reaching Winter Town in three days; perhaps that might prove an inducement to tenants. Hunting game and fishing in the forest's many streams, ponds, and small lakes could provide a steady supply of meat to those intrepid enough to risk having a jumped up wildling as their pledged lord.

Lohgun drew a great breath, pleased with the promise the land showed, yet still a bit daunted by the new and many challenges of lordship confronting him. Ned had gifted him with a large, skilled team of builders and craftsmen. He hoped they'd have time enough to make this modest motte-and-bailey style keep tenable afore too long. "Winter is coming," he whispered.

* * *

Six inches of snow had fallen over night. The thirty three men and nineteen women gathered at the base of the nearest cliff had tromped through the white covering to the open space and with shovels quickly cleared a fifty foot wide circle. Wielding a mattock with strength and speed, the Badger broke through a foot of frozen ground in five different spots making holes.

At last satisfied, he softly asked with visible breath, "May I have Lord Eddard's gift."

Harl Page stepped forward, pulling a small box out of his pocket. "Here my lord," and he handed it over.

Lohgun jiggled the slight, yet significant weight in his hand for a moment before opening the lid. Five completely different shaped nuts looked up at the wildling.

He took the first, an acorn, and dropped it in a hole.

Moving to the second hole, he extracted an elm seed and let it fall.

In the third he placed an ironwood nut.

For the fourth he chose a sentinel evergreen seed.

Finally he stepped up to the middle opening and grasped the largest nut, the fruit of a weirwood. The wildling stared at it, pondering time and his short existence weighed against the majesty of Westeros and the vast North he'd come to love. When Lohgun spoke, he spoke from a kernel in his heart he realized had grown mightily, "From Winterfell, Lord Stark has given us the seeds to begin a new life here at Tumbledown; to create our own godswood. We shall be blessed with a weirwood. Not in my life, maybe not even in our children's lives, but our grandchildren shall see a face upon this tree when they pray to the Old Gods. And when they do, hopefully they'll remember us and our making this place fit again for a northman."

The wildling turned northern lord bent over and gently placed the pale white nut in the bottom of the hole. Then he knelt, and all those with him knelt too. And as he prayed, he had a vision of an enormous stone manor, light gleaming out from huge glass window, more beautiful and comforting than any place he'd ever seen or dreamed of.

_(home)_

As his mind soared above the palace, part of the immaculately sculpted garden grounds shifted, revealing a deep dark hole in the earth. Light and fire and noise flickered inside and erupted out of the cavern. Lohgun waited for a dragon to fly forth, but instead a large black bird with three shiny eyes hovered into view.

_((intrusion))_

The wildling blinked. The vision disappeared. He noticed many eyes surreptitiously glancing at him from beneath lowered brows. The Badger stood up and stepped back to the edge of the cleared circle.

Harl waived a hand and five men rushed forward to fill the holes back in with chunks of frozen dirt. The man sidled up to Lohgun and murmured, "An auspicious beginning, my lord."

"It's damned freezing out here, and none of Winterfell's hot water springs to warm us. Still glad you asked to become my steward, pipsqueak?"

The man smiled broadly, well knowing the weather was far, far from rating as freezing to a northerner, let alone to a man born beyond the Wall. "Never said, I'd stay for life, did I? And there's no further advancement at Winterfell without Vayon passing on or Lord Eddard taking him to King's Landing because he bloody well got asked to become the Hand. Now what are the odds of that?" Harl asked with a rueful laugh at the futility of reaching his dream.

The men and women to first pledge to him at last began to walk back to Tumbledown Tower. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the Keep and out buildings, an enticing enough picture. Someone would get a batch of heated, spiced wine going soon enough. "It's a small group," Lohgun acknowledged out loud.

"But dependable," Harl assured him. "Word is spreading about our new tenancy. And you've a name, my lord. Come spring, we'll be swimming in people. Clansmen too, you and your claws are bloody popular with the Wulls, Flints, Norreys, and Harclays I hear."

The Badger laughed, remembering, or partially remembering, many a spirit fueled frolic with the mountain peoples. "Time will tell," he declared.

"Think they'll survive winter?" Harl asked, looking at the covered up holes.

"Hope we do, hope we all do, bub," the Badger repeated earnestly.


	17. FORWARD 2 - Scene 1

Young Robb didn't get his wish, the cavalry host the Lord of Winterfell commanded wound up taking four days, instead of the young lord's initial demand of three, to depart Riverrun. The men and horses had been too tired after riding the long miles from the Twins in only ten days while also fighting two battles. The injured had needed tending to, exhausted chargers rested, the dead buried, gear mended or replaced, arms sharpened, armor cleaned, the readiness of men and steeds evaluated, the captured foe secured, the particulars of the coming campaign planned, allies continually consulted and cajoled, and the remnants of the Lannister host chivvied away from the intended march route along the River Road. 'Details, details, details,' Lohgun thought as he sat his garron with Robb and his lord's other companions to watch the last of the mounted troops ford the Red Fork and head east toward the Trident. But some sense of order had eventually swirled out of the fields of chaos around Riverrun. 'Oh, and a fucking army crawls on its belly too,' the Badger complained to himself, unhappy with how much steward-like work he'd had to muck through in his role as the unofficial quarter master Robb chose from his dedicated group of personal companions. 'They're all worthless baby lordlings, never knew a hard day's work or how to get some'in done.' The wildling yawned. He hadn't gotten much sleep making sure the now moving army had actually been ready to move.

"Tired already, Badger?" Jon Snow chirped.

'Well, almost all useless. A bastard, even a noble bastard, has to work harder than most, I suppose.' "Didn't see you when I got back to my sleeping pallet," Lohgun declared. He yawned again and stretched, cricking his neck. "I think the better question is how tired did you leave that serving wench you kept making eyes at."

Jon turned a little pink. "Noooo, nothing like that," the young man stuttered.

"You didn't make her … happy? She seemed cheery enough at dawn when she brought you a bundle of treats from the kitchen. Oh, if it's anything good, you're sharing with me, bub," said the Badger, voice turning instantly from teasing to serious.

His companion rolled his eyes. "Vella wanted to pet Ghost, so I took her to the pen."

"And earned a lusty reward," the wildling said with a leer and a wink.

"Gods," Jon snorted in disgust.

"What? You didn't? Have I taught you nothing in your fifteen years of life, boy!?" Lohgun asked in condemnation.

His young friend turned pink again. "We did kiss … a bit," he admitted shyly. "Her lips tasted like … honey."

"Aaaaand?" the wildling prompted.

"She took my hands and placed them under her blouse."

"Huzzah!" the Badger shouted in praise.

"What is it?" the Lord of Winterfell called out sharply over the clanking sound of the passing riders.

"Jon got himself a handful of teat last night!" the Lord of Tumbledown Tower answered without an ounce of discretion or dignity.

A tumult of cheers and laughter erupted from the companions. Many of the three hundred Mallister horse making up the day's rear guard joined the commotion by hollering and beating on their shields in approval. Ghost and Grey Wind howled. Jon Snow turned beet red.

* * *

As camp was being made at the end of the first day's ride for over four thousand lords, knights, mounted men-at-arms, simple bannermen, and freeriders, a warning horn blew from the troop patrolling the perimeter. Men stopped pitching tents, tending horses, or unloading gear and waited expectantly for next call to indicate friend or foe. Heads found closer to the edges of the slowly forming encampment peered out into the dusk in search of movement.

"Ta-da-da-da, dum! Ta-da-da-da, dum!" Friend in sight the horn called. Tensions eased, men returned to their duties.

A few minutes later an outrider came barreling up from out of the south, and made his way to the large tent beneath the giant direwolf banner of the Starks.

Pulling his mount to a stop, the young man in hardboiled leather snapped a salute and spoke to Robb who stood among several lords and a few of his ever present companions, "The Brackens, my Lord."

"How many of the bastards?" Tytos Blackwood asked unhappily.

"Two hundred, maybe a few more, Ser."

Robb grimaced and shot a quick look at the Lord of Raventree Hall before addressing the messenger. "Go hobble your horse and grab a meal, you've done well. Ser Wendel, Ser Harrion, go greet Lord Jonos and kindly bring him here, I would hear his news."

The sons of Northern Lords headed for their horses. The Lord of Winterfell turned to Lord Tytos. "My thanks for your banners holding the rear today, Lord Tytos. It is seldom a privilege to enter camp last. Are they settling well?"

Lord Tytos took the hint, "If my lord would excuse me, I would appreciate checking on them."

Robb smiled, he had remembered one of his mother's lessons on the Riverlands, the longstanding feud between Brackens and Blackwoods. "Please do, and let me know if your men lack anything. I look forward to riding with them on the morrow."

Lord Blackwood returned a smile at the unexpected sign of Robb's approval and bowed graciously before departing.

"Smoothly done, my lord," the Blackfish murmured softly to his grandnephew.

"But how best to meet this Blackwood? Outside may seem too anxious, yet awaiting him in my tent may make me arrogant for one of such tender years," the Lord of Winterfell drawled with amusement at himself.

Brynden smiled crookedly. "I think the Kingslayer found nothing tender about your blade, my lord. Myself, the Badger, and Grey Wind alongside yourself shall send House Bracken the proper message."

Robb thought it over a minute and nodded agreement.

'Oh smoothly done, you wily old trout,' Lohgun thought.

"Alright you hangers-on, rascals, and drunkards," the young lord announced to those gathered outside his tent. "Go eat and find some sheep to warm you tonight, we move out at dawn."

Lohgun and Brynden huddled with Robb during the time they waited for Lord Bracken to arrive. The boy's plan for the Red Stallion banner appeared sound enough.

* * *

A thick shouldered man in plate and mail, along with a squire, rode up to the open area in front of the pavilion. He pulled up a bit short, his horse snorting nervously. The direwolf's presence certainly spooked the man's horse and most likely disconcerted him as well.

"Lord Jonos, welcome," Robb declared. "Worry not," and he patted the wolf's head, "Grey Wind shan't bother you. I hope the Lannisters weren't a bother on your journey here either." The young lord snapped his fingers and pages ran out to help take his guests' mounts.

"Nay, Lord Stark. Only saw a few running in the distance, and them wanting to flee further. Your work, and I thank you for it and for saving Riverrun too. I gathered what men I could when word reached me of your victory." The big, powerful man slid easily out of his saddle and sketched a bow. "I'm eager to hear every word of it. T'is true the Kingslayer is captured?"

Robb nodded and said with wry amusement, "he'll never carry a blade again, unless a pair of hooks counts."

Jonos Bracken gave a fierce, evil sounding bark, "By the Gods that's good to hear. What the damned Lannisters and that Clegane have done to my family, my lands, my smallfolks," he snarled with all the anger so obviously consuming his soul. "You're riding to meet the Old Lion. I'd like to join you ramming a hot poker up his arse."

"You will have your vengeance Lord Bracken, one way or another. But come inside, sit with me, there is wine and food; I would hear your story if you can bear to share it."

The anger eased for a moment on Bracken's face, revealing a glimpse of the weariness and gloom within. "Lord Eddard raised you right. A more honorable man never rode the Seven Kingdoms … the lies the boy King, his whore Lannister Mother, and their lickspittles say about him." Lord Bracken hocked and spat. "That for the lot of them."

The mask wrapped around Robb's face. That would being too new and sore for the lad to share beyond a very, very few. Nevertheless he waived the way toward his tent and a guard pulled the flap back, bidding entry.

Jonos Bracken nodded his head and strode forward to it. "Ser Brynden," he acknowledged. "Your return home is most welcome in these dark times. I pray to the Seven we'll be seeing those friends of yours from the Vale."

"Dark times, indeed," Brynden repeated back to him, frowning with the memory of his niece Lysa's indifference to the plight of her own birthplace.

"And Ser Badger. I saw you against the Targaryens, one of Lord Eddard's valiant shadows."

Lohgun snickered at being given a knightly title.

"Not a 'Ser,' Lord Jonos. My father made Lohgun a lord," Robb pronounced.

Bracken raised his eyebrows in shock at a known wildling being made even the lowest of lordlings.

"A small lordship for a small man," added the Badger, sporting a wicked smile.

* * *

Once inside the tent and seated, the four men availed themselves of refreshments while the Lord of Stone Hedge slowly described the pillaging of his lands, raping and scattering of his smallfolk, and the burning of his seat by the Mountain. Jonos Bracken related his escape and constant flight through the Riverlands to avoid capture from the Lannister hordes, all the while slowly gathering a force together and occasionally striking back. He also relayed a story of the young Stormlander Lord Dondarrion and a disreputable band of hedge knights, broken men-at-arms, poachers, woodsmen and smallfolks also taking the war in backwoods and out of the way places against Westerlander foraging parties and patrols.

When at last he finished his horrific tale, receiving everyone's sympathy and praise for his bravery and sense of duty, Lord Jonos asked, "If I may be so bold, my Lord, now that you've twisted the Old Lion's tail, how do you aim to beard him? Word is he's above the Trident along the Green Fork."

"I aim to cage him," Robb answered confidently.

Lord Bracken's eyes flit between Robb and the Blackfish, a sly grin turning one corner of his mouth. "Pardon my saying, but you've only three, maybe four thousand horse here to go against Tywin Lannister's host. Am I right to guess that with her uncle here, Lady Lysa is arranging to unleash the falcons of the Vale against the Gods damned Westerlanders?"

Robb frowned. "Unfortunately my aunt has chosen to stay her hand and even let the Imp win his freedom from the Eyrie. We will see no succor from the east."

"Others take her!" Lord Jonos swore fervently.

"I agree, my Lord," said Brynden. "T'is why I left her service to join with Lady Catelyn and the strong arms of her northern lords. Fear not, we've more strength than you know with which to keep Tywin Lannister bottled above the Trident."

"Oh we'll hold the Ruby Ford against him," Robb stated fervently.

"Can't be done without the Vale," Bracken declared, agitated by a stratagem he thought hopeless. "Not against twenty five thousand, with double your horse. Go west, boy; raid Lannister lands, make _his_ lords howl for a return. _That's_ the way to draw him out of the Riverlands."

Robb's eyes narrowed sharply at being called 'boy,' but he held his temper. Lord Bracken, while valiant enough, had confirmed other's opinion of his being a prickly, officious lord; one better kept busy at arm's length than to be relied upon up close. "That tactic has merit," he said drily. "Karyl Vance and Marq Piper, with a few hundred riders between them, have already come to Riverrun. Lord Edmure intends to give them two hundred more mounted banners, and a hundred Tyroshi freeriders as well. In a few days, when they've refitted, they'll head for Golden Tooth and see what trouble they can make of themselves."

"A distraction worth only a gnat's piss!" the angry lord barked.

"Yes," said Lohgun, placidly. "But it at least sends a message to the smallfolk that the Lords of the Riverlands have returned and intend to protect them."

"But that won't kill the Lion."

"As I said, our army is bigger than it appears, Lord Jonos," said Brynden amiably enough. "In two days my nephew Edmure will head down the Red Fork to join us at the Trident. Depending on how many barges and boats he can scrounge up, we might see two thousand men-at-arms with him."

Jonos Bracken stopped complaining, but looked dubious.

Robb smiled. "What the Blackfish is failing to say is that another armada is already coming down the Blue Fork under the command of my own Lord Bolton."

The Lord of Stone Hedge's eyes narrowed. "How many?" he growled.

"Sixteen, maybe seventeen thousand," Brynden announced.

"Half are having to march. There weren't enough boats for everyone," the Badger truthfully interjected.

Lord Jonos' eyelids flittered as he did the math. A feral grin stretched itself out, showing yellowed teeth. "That would be enough. He'll have to attack or slowly starve, won't he?"

Robb's eyebrows waggled. "Oh he might get a few supply ships in through the Saltpans, but not enough or in time to matter much. Just in case, Lord Edmure's bringing a token with him that will surely force Tywin Lannister to fight."

The lord gave a quizzical look.

"His son, the Kingslayer," Robb explained.

"Losing his hands has made him quite mad," Brynden declared. "Tywin's son stares at his stumps all day long and mutters 'hellfire.' Almost sad, really," he said, without a hint of sorrow to his voice.

The three others gathered at the portable table set up inside the Winterfell pavilion laughed at their enemy's discomfort.

"When does Lord Bolton start to arrive at the ford?" asked Lord Bracken, returning to business.

"We think four days. A few in three," the Blackfish answered, knowing more about the rivers than the others, even if he had lived a decade or more in the Vale.

"What's stopping the Old Lion from getting there first? Not to say this isn't as clever a plan as the _Warrior_ himself could devise. But …"

"Lord Dustin has been up in the Frey's territory with thirty five hundred men pretending to be the van of my Northern host. He carries banners for all my lords. Different day, different set of banners for our foe's scouts to see. What we want them to think they're seeing," Robb said pointedly.

"And yesterday," Lohgun added, "a raven came in from Willam, he was still leading them a merry chase. Tywin Lannister would need to leave today or maybe tomorrow to have a chance to grab the ford first. The Old Lion is through."

"It'll be a pleasure slaughtering the bloody fucks," Jonos announced.

Robb pursed his lips. "My Lord Bracken, I fear I have another task for you."

The man scowled, not liking those words in the least.

"There are still the dregs of the four thousand foemen who escaped Riverrun. It won't do letting them burn up the countryside. And after all they've done to you, a raid on the Westerlands is in order as well, down by the Gold Road. You could be my eyes down there too, strange things have been happening; from the Reach, Renly Baratheon has declared himself King. I wouldn't want to have a new army sneak up on me before the Old Lion is speared. Will you help me, Lord Bracken?"

The wildling could see the strong, blustery man grind his teeth at the idea of missing the big battle, but the plan did offer its own opportunities for revenge and loot. Jonos Bracken exhaled heavily. "On two conditions, my lord. First, I will need more men. My two hundred and nineteen are not enough for all you ask."

"Fair enough. I can give you two hundred Tully riders and a hundred Tyroshi freeriders," Robb responded, happy to continue splitting up the coin fighters into smaller and smaller units. "The Tyroshi worked for the Lannisters till they switched sides, possibly raided your own lands, can you work with them?"

The Lord of Stone Hedge pondered that question good and long. "Aye, it'll work. And my men will abide it or find my boot in their arses."

"And your other condition?" Brynden queried.

"Clegane. He did horrible things to my daughter. If you capture him, I get him. If you kill him, I want his head."

"We can live with that," the Badger pronounced. Then he grinned evilly, "but the Mountain won't."


	18. BACK 3 - Scene 1

Within two days journey of Winterfell, the hundred plus hardy souls riding south from Last Hearth had discovered from the traders, crofters and villeins they'd met in the many tiny hamlets dotting the Kingsroad that their liege, Lord Eddard, had himself already departed for even further south near a fortnight earlier. The news did not much trouble the ill-disciplined pack of Northerners, they knew their Lord's castle would still offer them a night's warm hospitality. And if Winterfell's generosity extended to a second night, sobeit, a hundred some odd men could easily enough catch up to the more than a thousand riders said to be accompanying the Warden of the North as he answered the call to arms of his best friend and King, Robert the War Hammer.

"Killin' ironborn will be a heap easier than wildlings, eh Badger," shouted out the Greatjon for the umpteenth time. "Once ya find'em, there's a boat load of the lil buggers just beggin' to be gutted. No trees or rocks fer the slippery eels to slip away and hide in."

"Dey ca'en alwait go fer a swim wid der Drowned God," rumbled Donnel Harclay in his jovial, mountain accent, "if'in dey's too skert ta play."

Lohgun laughed along with all the others within earshot at the idea of the rebellious iron scum jumping into the water to escape the justice and wrath of northern swords and axes. The doughty clansman had travelled with Lohgun to Icemark on the Wall where his cousin Ronnel served alongside young Benjen Stark as a ranger in the black brothers. And when a message came by raven to the castle's maester with news of a hither to unknown, unbound wildling chieftain stirring up trouble near the Icemark, both Lohgun and Donnel gladly volunteered to join the ranging against 'the Weeper.'

"I'm happy to kill any slimy eel cock stupid enough to get in my way," the Badger proclaimed boastfully, "easier than beyond the Wall, always looking over my shoulder for a lurking Other."

At the mention of the Great Enemy, several riders automatically repeated the standard Westerosi catechism to the foe's naming, "Night's Watch."

Most, true Northerners, whispered under their breaths a few of the forbidden places or names of the Old Gods for protection: "Nevyrland." "Stryker." "Gynosha." "Kelly." "Rysman."

The Badger, having through the years survived several Other attacks, lacked a superstitious dread of the enemy, but he respected the might of their wintry powers. Luckily, during the hunt from Icemark, they'd encountered none of the ice demons; though like any sane expedition beyond the Wall they'd gone prepared with dragonstone daggers and double wrapped vials of wildfire. In fact the entire search had been a letdown, the Weeper must have already returned to a bolthole in the Frostfangs. So with the trail cold as ice they'd slain what unbound wildlings they did find, burned out a few signs of Wight spore, and even wasted time visiting Craster and listening to the daughter rapist's cryptic mumbo jumbo. Lohgun shook his head in disgust at the pointless effort. 'At least I got to spend time with Benjen,' he thought. 'Only twenty and already Deputy Hound of Icemark. Won't be when he makes Chief Hound of the whole fucking Wall.'

* * *

The Great Hall rang louder than the numbers filling it would typically warrant, Umbers by nature were a noisome lot, and more so when another freely allowed the broken chained giants to drain their kegs of beer, ale, and mead. Tankards clanked on knife scoured table tops. Half-drunk men bellowed bawdy songs horribly off key. Threats and challenges periodically roared forth when disputes arose over who held the right to a particular saucy serving wench's attention. And with Winterfell depleted the last two weeks of its usual assortment of randy wolves and swaggering cocks, many of the serving wenches were feeling quite wanton themselves.

Lohgun spared only occasional, passing glances to the shenanigans unfolding out in the room. He sat alone at the dais beside the incomparable Catelyn, basking in the glow of her smile and the warmth of her laughter at his telling of antics from years past. Earlier in the evening the Greatjon had sat the other side of the auburn haired beauty, but he had long since joined his men's festivities below and currently appeared to be seeing how many women he could balance a top of his shoulders and arms. The Steward Vayon Poole, the Master-at-Arms Ser Rodrik, and Maester Luwin had also shared the high table through the meal, but each lingered afterward only briefly before respectfully begging her ladyship's pardon in order to wander off and attend to duties.

"So it's my first winter here, the snow's come for most of a month and everyone's going crazy from being trapped inside," said Lohgun, words slightly slurred.

Catelyn reached out a warm hand and laid it on the wildling's arm. "I know exactly what you mean. I'd lived through several winters in Riverrun, but nothing, _nothing_ prepared me for a _North's_ winter." The jiggles her body made as she gave the emphasis of mock shivers to her words nearly drove the Badger's hands to reach out and cup her. A sly, amused grin spread her rosy lips, "So what madness did you connive at?"

"Me? It was hardly me, Cat," he protested too vigorously.

She laughed, the notes catching in her throat just enough to give it an earthy quality. "Ohhhh, I think I smell blame about to be cast upon _Brandon_."

Lohgun grinned quickly. "Exactly. Who else?" He picked up the wine flagon and topped off her glass before refilling his empty one. The wildling yearned to hear her say 'Lohgun' in the same tone she said 'Brandon.' Seven years and she still held a spark for the fiery eyed rogue.

"So what did Brandon do?"

"He said we should go swimming. Now I like a soak in the hot springs as much as Hodor over there does, but I was surprised when Brandon, Elbert, Jeffory, Kyle, Theo, and Mark all met me at the Guest House door and headed for the Hunter's Gate instead of the Godswood."

Cat chuckled. "Where were they taking you? Not the Wolfswood, surely?"

"In ten foot of snow? And all of us in only boots and smallclothes? Not even I'm _that_ crazy. They were carrying axes, shovels, and brooms. Brandon said we were going moat swimming."

The former betrothed of Brandon howled in delight at the mental image of it.

"No, no, it gets better, really, _that's_ hardly a story. You must pay a fine for laughing too soon, Cat; drink up, drink up I say." The auburn haired lovely accepted his chastisement good naturedly and tipped back her head, revealing a delicate, curved neck, to sip a red, less full bodied than herself, from the cup. "Good. Good. Now where was I?"

"Traipsing half naked, like the hairy wildling savage you are, across the courtyard."

"Right! Now we go through the first portcullis and Brandon leads us down onto the frozen over moat. We cleared a big circle of snow then started hacking away at the ice, easily over a foot thick. The bigger the hole got, the wider Brandon complained we needed to make it. If we weren't working so hard we'd have got frostbite on our … uhm …" he stuttered, realizing the word he'd almost said.

"Cocks," Cat chortled, her cheeks flush.

"That's right," Lohgun snorted. "Small and shriveled as they were from the cold," he continued, causing his companion to burst out laughing again. "Ya did it again, Cat. Drink again," he commanded and she obliged. "Finally Brandon says the channel was cut was wide enough. Me, Kyle, and Elbert start taking our boots off, but Bran says, 'hold on. By ancient Winterfell tradition, the first moat swim of winter has to start with a jump.' 'A jump,' we asked. 'Yes, but since you're beginners, you leap from the low wall,' and he points to the top of the outer wall. 'It's eighty feet,' Kyle cried. 'I know,' says Brandon, 'I did it when I was ten. Me, Theo, and Mark are jumping from the inner wall.' And Theo shouts, "That's a hundred or more, ya soppin wet women's … uhm …"

"Cunts," Cat squeaked, flush cheeks now positively flaming crimson at the word she dared utter.

"Well, ahh, so up Elbert, Kyle, Jeffory, and me climb and wait on the walkway right above the hole. And by this time word has spread all over Winterfell and people are clogging up the inner wall waiting to see if we'll jump. Soon enough Brandon, Theo, and Mark force their way to the front on their side and perch up on the battlement yelling at us to jump. Kyle and Elbert shout back for Bran to go first, but he's not moving anywhere and I'm starting to get cold, so I say fewk it and jump."

Catelyn gasped, and clutched at his arm again.

"I slice through with a nice crackling sound cause it was so cold a thin rime had already frozen atop of where we'd cut. Oh the water was chill, drove the breath out of me and made my sac try to hide within me. O'course when I surface and grab a breath, I shout it's lovely. And stupid Elbert and Kyle just shrug and leap out into the air themselves the fools."

Catelyn leaned in close to whisper, "Who was the first fool, I wonder?"

"Me," the Badger declared. "But what can you expect from a wildling? They were proper, fostered nobles. They should have known better, shouldn't of they?"

Cat nodded in agreement. "Should know better," she muttered.

"As those idiots are hurtling toward me, I see Brandon and Theo and Mark laughing their asses off at us. Those turds had tricked us. But we got the last laugh. Brandon couldn't help himself and stood up to keep haranguing us."

Cat's eyes went wide, mouth gaped open, and started to giggle in spasms of amusement, "He fell, didn't he. Brandon slipped off the wall and into the water."

"Nooooo, Theo and Mark pushed him," and the Badger started roaring with laughter at the memory of Brandon's soaked, ice chilled head bobbing back up to the surface of the frozen moat.

Cat's youthful giggles finally played themselves out. "Thank you, Lohgun, you've cheered my spirits. You've always had a knack for doing so," and she leaned over to gently brush her kissable, perfect lips against the thick, bristly hair of his cheek. "Now if you'll forgive me, I think, I think I shall retire."

As she stood up, she swayed. Lohgun leapt to his feet and steadied her.

She leaned into him a moment, "A bit much to drink on this fine night," she whispered.

"I'll help," he volunteered eagerly and started to guide her down the back 'T' of the Great Hall toward the rear entrance of the Great Keep. A few servants witnessed their progress and he nodded politely to them. The further they walked, the more she leaned on his strong body, more so when they took the stairs up to her chamber.

At the door to her room, she smiled kindly, and a bit disjointedly at him. His entire body pulsed from the pleasure of having been so close to her, pressed against her. "Thank you, Lohgun."

"Anything for you, Cat. Always."

_(jean)_

For the first time since he first met her in Riverrun, he again saw the woman within her, trapped, trying to break free.

_(logan)_

Her eyes stared right back into his. For a second he saw something flicker in those bottomless, mystical blue eyes. And he knew she looked at him in a new way too. The merest hint of a memory fluttered inside him, something as tenuous as the gossamer thin wings of a butterfly. He couldn't see her, but her scent filled this hazy dream, and then he remembered the feel of her fingertips slowly edging down his naked chest and over the rippling muscles of his abdomen. A remote, distant part of him said, 'that never happened,' but he ignored the distant voice

He reached out and gripped her hand, not releasing her gaze; falling deeper and deeper into her mesmerizing eyes. She clutched back at him, drawing him closer, closer. He felt her tremble, heart pounding beneath her shapely chest, sweet breath caressing his face.

"Cat?" he exhaled.

"Yes, Lohgun, yes," she answered, slipping her hands free of his so she could grab the back of his head; forcing his lips down to her wine stained ones.

He clasped her to him, picking her up, yet not relinquishing the searing kiss. Loghun carried the auburn haired queen of his heart to the bed and threw the both of them upon it. They scrambled to tear each other's clothes off, to nibble, stroke, and finally thrust over and over and over.

* * *

Catelyn, soon after peaking, swooned into a deep slumber; an innocent, cheerful smile stealing years off her face, turning her back to the young maiden he first saw seven years earlier. Lohgun lay there a while, drinking in her naked beauty. An hour, two hours passed. The euphoria began to drain from the Badger's body and his super keen senses began to detect less pleasurable clues: the sight of Ned's possessions placed neatly about the room, the toys of children not his own lying on the rugs, the smell of Ned in the sheets on which he had just fucked his friend's wife. Abhorrence filled his soul. He crawled out of bed and donned his scattered clothes. He must leave Winterfell, immediately. Would he ever dare return?


	19. FORWARD 2 - Scene 2

The din of a battle floated above the chill waters of the Trident and hung beneath the moisture laden January clouds low flying in the sky. Lohgun's sharp ears had picked up the clamor first, but within the last ten minutes even the deafest of Robb's advance party began to hear the distinct call of man's greatest symphony; the trumpets of war and the clash of arms. They increased the pace of their tired mounts, anxious to join the tumult. Early the previous day these four hundred riders had left the predominantly northern force of four thousand cavalry traveling east on the River Road, for the young Lord of Winterfell was eager to lay eyes on his pike, sword, bow, and pole arm toting bannermen whom he'd last seen a score of days ago. That very morning they'd left the road and cut cross country, instead of following it all the way to the Kingsroad before turning north, to make better time to the Ruby Ford.

Frustratingly the flat, rich flood plains made by the merging of the Green, Blue, and Red Forks offered no vantage point, so they kept pounding hard through the trampled and burned grain fields of lordlings, crofters, and smallfolks holding allegiance to the juvenile remnant of House Darry currently ensconced at Riverrun. Four hundred heads immediately snapped to the source of a horn blowing, a sound followed by the unveiling a half dozen riders scrabbling out of an unseen gully a quarter mile away. Robb's companions quickly formed a wedge about their liege. A small, ragged banner fluttered beneath a spear carried by the lead mount of the oncoming riders.

"A flayed man!" Dacey Mormont cried above the thunder of hooves.

"Boltons!" shouted Eddard Karstark, riding beside his betrothed.

"Slow," Robb commanded.

A small opening was made in the wedge of riders for a polecat lean man with lank, greasy brown hair poking out from beneath his leather cap to weave his mount back and forth until he arrived in front of Robb. He knuckled a finger to his brow. "I'm Gerrit, milord," he muttered gutturally.

"What is the word?" the young lord asked with surprising calm.

The dirty man smile, red stained teeth showing his love of sourleaf, "Old Lannister's scouts is seeing if they can stampeded the fear into us, damned fools. Milord didn't want ta waste any arrows, so he let'em cross the Ford, unchallenged like." Then, with a horse rider's natural superiority, the man Gerrit added, "It'll do the walkers good ta get a first blood their blades, and that from right up close."

"How many then?"

"Oh, less'en a thousand, should say. Milord sent me and a few other groups out on the sides ta see if they me'nts ta be sly like. But naw, Tridents all quiet, no hint o' trickier or nothin'."

"Then kindly show us to your Lord, eh?" Robb commanded.

The man nodded and turned his lean northern horse back east.

* * *

Robb had not wanted to interview Lord Roose in his tent, but while walking with his companions on the earthen rampart constructed over the last three and half days by the increasing numbers who had arrived at the ford by boat from Fairmarket. From the slain men and horses spread in front of the position, the Bolton scout's scornful attitude toward the limited Lannister assault had been accurate. On the far shore, a hundred or so sporting Lannister red stood watch while the rest pitched tents, started fires, and tended to their injured comrades.

"A fine fieldwork you've constructed here," Robb proclaimed, looking up and down the long four foot high slope periodically marked with sharpened stakes.

"The men worked diligently, Lord Stark," responded softly, as was his usual want; only the merest hint of a knowing smile marring his placed visage.

"If I may be so bold to ask, Lord Roose. You've left near a hundred yards of open space from ford's edge to here. And, uhm, might the berm be raised higher still?"

Two chill, pale eyes slowly blinked once before the Lord of the Dreadfort quietly revealed the cold calculation of his decision. "To win, and revenge ourselves upon the Lannisters, we must _crush_ their army. Were our wall stouter yet, and there not enough room for the Westerlanders to believe their knights could mount a charge, then Tywin Lannister is too clever to force an attack."

"Then he would starve," Wendel Manderly chortled, belly jiggling.

"But not soon," Roose Bolton responded dispassionately. "And given time, I fear what mischief the Old Lion's brains and gold might concoct."

"Treachery, a Braavosi rescue fleet, an alliance … with someone," said Brynden Tully before shrugging his shoulders to emphasize the limitless possibilities. "No one ever won many coins betting against Tywin Lannister's smarts."

An eyebrow raised on Bolton's plain, pale face. "Exactly," he agreed mildly.

"And I'll bet the ground closest to the water is soft and yielding, difficult turf to kick your mount into a gallop from," the Badger added.

"Our counter charges would likely have some advantage," Lord Roose stated plainly, without showing any sign of a smirk or satisfaction.

Robb quickly glanced at his two top advisors faces for assurance. Then, "You've done amazingly well here Lord Roose. Bringing the army intact down the Blue Fork, preparing the battleground, readying the men; you have my deepest thanks."

The Leech Lord simply bobbed his bloodless, pale head in acknowledgement of Robb's words.

"We've seen the Old Lion's scouts," the Blackfish proclaimed, waiving a hand toward the other side of the ford. "He musn't be too far behind. Any word of him, or Willam and his lure?"

"Since Fairmarket, we've had no ability to receive Lord Dustin's ravens," said Bolton calmly, identifying the obvious. "But we've … _interrogated_ a few survivors of today's futile display. The Lannister van might make it here in the evening. The entire army has been pushing south hard for a week. It will likely take several days for them to array their entire might."

"What of Willam?!" the Badger snapped, taking a menacing step toward Bolton.

Undisturbed by the threat, the seemingly bloodless continued. "The deception was revealed to the Lannisters when Lord Dustin's modest host was trapped against the Green Fork on the edge of Frey lands. Addam Marbrand, Lyle Crakehall, and Gregor Clegane led a charge that rolled over them. A few, I was told, escaped over the river to safety," Lord Roose explained evenly.

"Seven hells!" Lohgun swore angrily.

"Bloody bastards!" the Blackfish raged.

The Stark mask slid down Robb's face so he could hide his disquiet at the news of his father's longtime friend.

Ignoring the other men's angst, Bolton started asking questions of his own. "Our horse force will arrive tomorrow, yes, milord?"

The Lord of Winterfell nodded curtly.

"Will Riverrun provide any further support beyond those knights and mounted banners that may already be riding with your banners?"

Tytos Blackwood replied for the Riverlands' honor. "Lord Edmure is bringing a few thousand by boat down the Red Fork. The fastest craft should start arriving tomorrow as well. And Lord Edmure brings a nasty surprise for Tywin Lannister too," he finished with evil glee.

Lord Bolton merely stared back at the man blankly.

"The Kingslayer," ground out Lord Blackwood, ill taken by the pale, placid man's non-responsiveness. "We mean to show the Old Lion his handless son."

A pleasant smile creased the Lord of Dreadfort's face. "That will prove useful," he declared.

* * *

Noise carried across the water all night long. Daylight revealed several thousands gathered under various Lannister allied houses on the north bank of the Trident. A light rain through the morning did little to slow the steady influx of horses and men into the disorganized camp beginning to sprawl on the other side of the Ruby Ford. Near noon, the drizzle finally ended and an hour later when a hint of sun and sky peaked through the clouds, a river galley flying the trout banner of the Tully's rowed into view, making for the southern shore.

Robb and his companions trotted a quarter mile to the west along the Trident's bank. "Welcome," he shouted out to his uncle, who stood on the prow directing the hundred fully armed men-at-arms disembarking into the mud.

"Not too late I take it!" he yelled back in greeting.

"No! They've been patiently awaiting your arrival!" Robb returned loudly with a grin.

"Very sporting of them, for I intend to pay them back for their previous hospitality to me. Careful!" he suddenly bellowed. "That's precious cargo. Use a plank for Gods' sake."

Quickly a wide board was lain from the edge of the boat to the muddy shoreline, and two large men led an equally large, but disheveled figure, who constantly spat "Hellfire, Hellfire," off the galley.

"He was bloody tiresome," Edmure laughed at the Kingslayer. "Praise the Seven we had plenty of dreamwine to dose him with or no one would have ever slept at night. Is the madman's father here yet? I can't wait to see his face when he takes a gawk at his golden boy."

"The overlarge Red Lion banner has yet to float above their camp. And glad of his absence I am," Robb proclaimed. "There's five or six thousand of his horse gathered. And while my foot could likely handle the charge, my cavalry is not yet come."

"Aye, it's reassuring to have that mailed fist ready to hit back with," Edmure agreed, punching the air with a fist. "An hour ago, our lookout thought he saw movement in the distance. Probably your lads, I'm sure they'll arrive shortly. More of my own boats should start landing soon enough too, fifteen hundred ready to share the shield wall!"

* * *

Two hours later thirty five hundred tired riders trotted into the back of the fortifications Lord Bolton had constructed. And while Robb was greeting the Lords Umber, Karstark, Mallister, Cerwyn, and others, a messenger ran back to interrupt him with the news that Lord Tywin Lannister had arrived with another thousand mounted knights and armored banners. Yet still no sign of any foemen come on foot. Before too long, a red cloaked herald trotted to the middle of the ford carrying the plain white banner of parley. Robb sent his own emissary out, who quickly came back to announce that the Lord of Casterly Rock wish to have words with the Lord of Winterfell. A few more trips to and fro by both sides eventually settled on each lord being granted six companions to the negotiation in the middle of the river.

Robb rode out with his uncle Edmure, Lord Blackwood, Lord Karstark, Lord Bolton, the Blackfish, and Lohgun to meet Tywin Lannister and his closest advisors whom Edmure named in whispers to Robb: Kevan Lannister, Lord Lefford, Lord Lydden, Lord Serret, Ser Addam Marbrand, and Ser Lyle Crakehall. "Have you come to surrender?" the Lord of Winterfell asked stiffly, concealing his hate at being so close to the root cause of the ever present pain he felt at the loss of his father.

The Lord of Casterly Rock said nothing for a long minute, simply staring intently at his opponent, taking his measure, perhaps hoping to disturb him enough into making a mistake. At last, "My condolences for your father, the Lord Eddard. His death was ill done, not of my choosing. It benefitted no one."

Robb's lips pursed, salt rubbed into the raw wound of his father's memory, yet he held his tongue, waiting for the angry, passionate, headstrong words to pass.

"And what of the Riverlands," snapped a red faced Edmure. "You've burnt out my lords, driven the smallfolk from the fields, raped our daughters! Was that not ill done too? I see not how it benefitted you, yet you certainly choose the deed. What useless condolences do I receive?!"

Tywin Lannister's eyes narrowed and shifted to gaze upon the Heir of House Tully. He regarded him like a non-entity, a truculent child. "None," he announced coldly. "Your sister, within the Riverlands, called upon your lords' banners to kidnap my son Tyrion, which they freely did do. And then they fled to refuge with your other sister, Lysa Arryn. My son has now been returned to me. A Lannister always pays his debts. Consider your debt paid, and be glad it was not more dear."

"Fuck …"

"Uncle," Robb barked, reining Edmure back. Convinced there would be no further outbursts, he continued. "Your son, conspired to kill my brother. My lady mother sought to bring him to justice."

"A flimsy charge, based only on an accusation of that jumped up money changer, Lord Baelish," the Old Lion sneered. "A charge proven baseless through my son's triumph in a Trial by Combat. Now kindly move your army out of the way, Lord Winterfell, and I shall return to the Westerlands, peaceably."

"There is the matter of justice for my father."

"A traitor, denying the right of my grandson to sit on the Iron Throne. His actions freely witnessed before the entire court, of this there is no doubt. His death is a regrettable … complication. I would have granted him the Wall had my council been available in King's Landing. Alas it was not, and for it your father suffered a harsher justice, but the King's justice nonetheless."

"No, there is more to it than that," Robb insisted. "And I intend to go to King's Landing and discover the truth. Joffrey Baratheon will be held personally accountable for any miscarriages that happened. Alas, before I move south, I must deal with you. It would not do to have a Lion pounce on my turned back."

Tywin Lannister nodded slowly, thoughtfully for a moment. "You are welcome to try me. But I am in no rush to cross. And lest you forget, the King is still betrothed to your sister Sansa, a sweet girl I am told. And she is kept company in the Red Keep by your other sister, Arya. Do not make this any uglier, young lord."

Robb smiled viciously. "If you would allow me, old lord, I would like to bring out two more … notables to our conversation. Sight of them may … illuminate your decision."

Tywin Lannister glanced quickly at his brother Kevan who returned a worried look. "Very well," the Old Lion agreed warily.

Robb raised a hand, and almost immediately two horses broke through the pack of onlookers gathered at the shore. The first mount barely held the giant sized Greatjon. The other precariously carried the handless Jaime Lannister.

"My son," the Old Lion gasped when he recognized his son, but his iron control quickly reasserted itself. "Yes, this is not a surprise. For you to have come here with an army and the boy Edmure, you would have had to have defeated Jaime outside Riverrun. Perhaps the King would be willing to exchange your sisters for his uncle."

Robb shook his head no. "Not good enough. If you do not battle me on the morrow, Lord Lannister, I'll execute the Kingslayer in front of your whole army."

Most of the Lannister parley party gasped or muttered curses at Robb's bald threat, but not the imperturbable Old Lion. "Kevan," Tywin Lannister said quietly, and his well-trained brother turned to wave at the north side of the ford. Quickly, five horses emerged out of the jumbled mass of horseman on the bank and trotted their way into the water. Two men rode with bags over their heads. A seeming half sized man came out on one end of the short line mounted inside a high backed and fronted saddle. A fourth man with black lank hair and a stubbly beard rode in the middle, holding the reins of the hooded men's horses. The last man was the largest creature anyone born south of the Wall had ever seen, making the Greatjon appear slight by comparison.

Tyrion and the fighter who held the other two's reins stopped short of the parley by thirty yards. The huge man kept riding forward and forced his way into the middle of the Westerland lords. His giant helmet slowly turned so that he might stare a moment through the narrow eye slits at each his enemies. At last apparently satisfied with their insignificance, the massive man looked straight at Robb and bellowed, "I'm the Mountain, bitch!"


	20. BACK 3 - Scene 2

In the dark, Lohgun left a quickly scrawled note for the Umbers, took his horse from the stable, and slipped out the South Gate with a nod to the sleepy eyed guard, and spent the rest of the night brooding within one of the many empty houses of Winter Town.

"Waz she worth it, wee man?" the Greatjon called out on seeing the Badger sitting on the stoop of the Burly Wench Inn.

The wildling shot daggers at the big man, "Who?!" he snapped.

The Lord of Last Hearth pointed at the inn, "Whatever whore tricked you to come out in the moonlight," he replied, paying no mind to his friend's gruff manner. "You were a silly tit to get dragged all the way out here for a shag, man."

"Aye," Donnel Harclay echoed. "T'wer plenny of willin' poon in da 'Fell. Lots of wimmin a missing der regular cocks. Evin da proper matrons all a wet fur sum spoonin'." And from his saddle, the mountain clansman rocked his hips to leave no mistake as to what he spoke of.

Lohgun, betrayer of loyalty and friendship, had spent six wakeful hours wondering why Cat had succumbed to him. The simple loneliness Donnel suggested? Had she truly wanted him? _Him_? Since when? Since Riverrun? How much was the wine he'd kept pouring for her at the high table? Or, or, or had she felt that same weird scrap of memory? So infuriating, like an itch impossible to scratch. "Fuck that," he answered brashly. "Too many talking arseholes about." He stuck his nose in the air and took an exaggerated sniff. "Funny, the arseholes smelled just like a shitty clansmen and a passel of slop bucket guzzling Umbers I know."

A score of men "ohhhhhhed" in appreciation of the wildling's jab at themselves and their liege lord.

"Why ya …" Donnel started to bluster, only to have the gathering shush him quiet.

In the noise, the Greatjon, from the saddle, straightened his back to its full height and squinted down the length of his long, broken nose, before hollering, "Just a tease who'd never lain with a man before, were she? Too bad for you, Badger. And a right shame for the shy slut, cause would of made no matter if she'd let you rut around insider her with that wee twig of yours; she'd have still woke with'er maidenhead intact."

A hundred men howled in glee at the demeaning slander.

'Keeps getting better and better,' Lohgun thought to himself. He scratched his chin hairs thoughtfully, dislodging a tick or some other tiny vermin. He stood up slowly. The crowd of riders leaned forward, eagerly awaiting the wildling's rejoinder. But Lohgun simply untied the reins and leapt up into the saddle of his oversized pony. "Tchah," he said and off the garon went, heading for the Kingsroad and the South.

"Awwww," several moaned in disappointment.

"Haha!" the Greatjon bellowed, raising both arms in the air and shaking them in victory.

"Bah, dat were nuttin," Donnel Harclay complained about the big man's easy win. "Da Badjur must nae had a dram o'ale yet."

* * *

A half dozen miles above Moat Caillin they came across a mixed force of Flint, Locke, and Manderly banners late in choosing to answer Winterfell's call to arms. Their total numbers came in at a score less than two hundred. Ser Rodrik Locke, the youngest son of Lord Locke's youngest brother, was the highest lordling present and had accepted, as much as his affable, casual nature allowed, the leadership of the hodgepodge. A leadership that he, and the men under him, were more than happy to hand over to the Lord of House Umber.

After taking the measure of the seemingly slight fellow, who had yet to explain why he, or any of the others, weren't part of the main Manderly contingent that had awaited Lord Eddard at Moat Caillin six days earlier, the Greatjon asked, "And why did you want to fight the Ironborn, Locke? Not many Krakens in the Bite."

The man's visage puckered, as if in deep thought, "Them raiders will only be stopped by the sinking their Gods damned boats. Most of the North is useless on water, only knowing how to make it, ha! We knows the sea, and ship handling. Lord Eddard'll need men who know port from starboard to keep you land loving shits from getting your pretty arses plunked into the briny, what?"

"Oh, oh, fear not lads," the Greatjon hooted loudly. "Momma seal here is gonna make sure our puppy arses don't get wet."

Rodrik Locke smirked and then warned them, "Walking the deck, even in moderates seas, is like stumbling drunk in a storm."

"We call that Tuesday," shouted Lohgun.

* * *

Two days journey south of the Moat brought the disparate group of northerners into contact with another party arriving a tad late to Lord Eddard's summons.

"Ho, Bear!" the Lord of Last Hearth cried.

The main in the middle of the front row of two hundred riders drawn up beneath the banners of the Sable Bear, the Sable Horsehead, and the Crossed Longaxes under a Sable Crown spurred his horse and trotted out to greet them. A shaggy brown haired man and fellow sporting tightly cut blond hair, so light it was almost white, quickly followed after Jorah Mormont.

The hairy man smiled back openly, "Good to see you, Jon," he answered. "It's been two years; and you still smell like sheep dip," he shot with a saucy grin.

"Well I like the taste of mutton, and that ewe I roll in the muck with has given me another big, fine son," he chortled back.

The Lord of Bear Island smiled in amusement at the Greatjon as he gave Lohgun a casual "Badger" in greeting, before turning to the third man. "Welcome, I'm Jorah Mormont, and you are?"

"Rodrik Locke," their companion replied with a smile. "A pleasure to meet you Lord Mormont."

The not so little Bear smiled, "And I'm sure that's the last you'll be calling me lord. Sorry to see you stuck with this disreputable lot."

"Oh there not so bad, on a good morning they can find their arses from their elbows," Rodrik said conspiratorially.

Mormont's two compatriots reined in and knuckled salutes to the Greatjon, the Badger, and Rodrik.

"Torrhen, Edgur," Lohgun replied.

"And who be these fine bannermen of the Rills and the Barrows, eh Badger?" the Greatjon asked.

"The almost bald looking one is Torrhen Stout of the Saltspear Stouts. And the furball is Edgur Brooke of Silver Rill."

The Greatjon's eyes narrowed. "I seem to recall you lot. Ya took three men at the Bells, didn'ya Brooke."

The overflowing mop of brown hair nodded happily to be remembered for his martial prowess.

"And you were Willam's squire in the Rebellion, weren't ya Torrhen. Crypt knighted ya. A shame about Lady Barbrey, we heard on the road she were still sick from the birthin. Is the sprog well?"

Torrhen's smile dimmed at the question. "Young Eddard thrives, milo .. Greatjon. But her ladyship's health continues to ebb and flow, so Lord Dustin chose to remain with her."

The Greatjon twisted his mouth, clearly unhappy to hear someone he regarded a fine warrior prefering to tend a woman rather than make war, but held his tongue on the subject for a rare change.

"So I suppose you'd like to travel under our protection, you big lout?" Jorah Mormont asked.

The Greatjon pretended to frown at the insult, but the free spirited Rodrik played along with it to turn a jape, "Oh thank you good Ser, I was all a fright and worrying about my maidenhood," the man from Oldcastle squeaked in a high pitched voice. "For such a heroic deed, I'll surely grant such a handsome knight my favor to wear," he continued, batting his eyelashes at the hairy man.

Jorah started to turn pink from embarrassment before he suddenly broke out in a laugh that matched everyone else's guffaws at Locke's antics.

* * *

At the foot of the Neck they at last caught up with Ned and the army of Northern banners under him. Lohgun's companions took the reunion as a good omen, while the wildling prayed he could wait longer, much longer, to see his friend, perhaps until the Wall melted and the Unending Summer began. But the Old Gods would no more answer that plea than they would his nightly prayer to go back in time so he could unstick his cock from inside Cat's auburn covered mound. He sighed heavily; hating Cat for bewitching him, hating Brandon for catching her heart first, hating Ned for healing her broken heart, and hating himself most of all for betraying those who loved and trusted him. The guilt simmering in him the last two weeks churned ever hotter the closer he got to his friend.

As Lord of Winterfell, custom required Ned to first greet the Greatjon and Jorah, since they were _the_ lords of two of the North's noble houses, and he did so cheerily enough for he both liked and respected the two warriors. But the grey eyed, honorable man then exercised his lordly prerogative and skipped past the passel minor nobles and knights amongst the new come five hundred to approach Lohgun next. Ned guided his horse straight toward the wildling with no hesitation, a smile on his usually reserved countenance, eyes open and unguarded.

'Stryker smite me,' the wildling cursed, 'What have I done? I am an animal,' and his guilt surged to a boil, taunting him to lash out at his fear, at his rival.

_(alex)_

"Badger," Ned said heartily as he nudged his horse alongside the short man's mount, their knees touching.

Lohgun smiled back, feeling his lips curve into a goofy, stupid, pained grin.

_(friend)_

Ned leaned far over to slap his friend on the shoulder, and whispered fiercely, "Joy."

"Joy," he rasped, the familiar, symbolic word having to fight its way out of a throat suddenly full of gravel and dark emotion.

_(teammate)_

Ned leaned back, surprised at the tone he heard in his friend's voice. Concern swept his face as he stared intently at the wildling, reading him, reading his soul.

'He suspects ... something. Brandon would have known. Brandon would have already plunged a dagger in me,' Lohgun thought. The silent, commanding Stark gaze lengthened. 'The fucker isn't going to say anything. He won't ask, he'll just keep staring at me 'til I crack.' He shifted uneasily in the saddle. He cleared his throat. "It's been a long time, Ned."

His friend blinked in surprise. "Barely a year since you last came to Winterfell."

"No, since we last rode to war. A lot has changed."

Ned nodded his head, coolly considering the possibilities of the wildling's statement. "Aye, Badger; we're not as young and foolish as we once were. Some of us have wives, and families. A lot has changed, but not honor or friendship, surely?"

'Tell him, tell him!' "No," he choked. "I'm your man, always." The lie nearly stuck in his craw. "Just … don't be in a gods damned hurry to make young Robb the next lord."

Ned at last gave a knowing smile, "I see. Cat got to you, didn't she? We'll talk more later."

'No we won't,' Lohgun thought with relief and dread.

* * *

The smell of fresh cut lumber, sap, pitch, freshly resin waxed sailcloth, and hemp cordage mixed with the charcoal smell of the partially burned and even more partially repaired docks at Seagard. Two and a half months earlier the Mallisters had beaten back an Ironborn force trying to capture the town. The price of the successful defense had been paid not only in lives, but in the seaborn trade ability of the Riverlands only port on the west coast of Westeros. Merchant cogs as well as Lord Jason's small battle fleet had been burned and sunk at their moorings. The residents of Seagard had worked diligently to raise the least damaged ships and make them seaworthy again: one war galley, three long ships, and two cogs. For the past ten days the little flotilla had been taking short jaunts together inside Ironman's Bay. Though mostly just a couple miles north or south of the port and never far from shore, for a score or so of Kraken raiding ships always lurked in the distance, keeping a watery eye on the coast but not daring to come within range of Seagard's heavy catapults. Today, the first contingent of Northerners were being given a taste of seaborne travel in anticipation of the royal fleet arriving so they might carry the fight to the Iron Isles.

"Avast! Avast!" Rodrik yelled at the men on the right side of the boat.

They half dozen men confused at the nautical jargon slowly stopped pulling on the rope, earning them a flash of a smile from the enthusiastic younger son of a younger son of House Locke.

"I came to fight the Iron fucks," the Greatjon snarled, "not learn to talk like a bloody squid."

"Why your high and mighty-ship," the Badger chirped. "Lemon cakes await you on the … poop deck? Leave the salty work to us lesser men."

"Rysman chop off my cock the day my men work harder than me." The Lord of Last Hearth then gave Lohgun a love tap, causing the wildling to stumble. "_You_ go stand in the shite named place and rest yer wee little arms tiny man."

"No shoving!" Rodrik bellowed. "Now the winds starting to come leeward, port side crew pick up the halyard to the gaff rig and hoist away!"

Lohgun, the Greatjon, Torrhen, Edgur, Donnel, and two Umber banners stayed rooted in place watching and waiting for the other deck crew to do something instead of just nervously shuffling their feet in bewilderment.

"Port side crew!" Rodrik screamed. "Port side crew!"

Both crews stared with gaped mouths at the agitated man.

From back on the so called poop, Jorah Mormont's bass voice cut through the light wind and creaking of the cog's hull. "Port means left, not you lot of arses standing nearest Seagard."

Torrhen and the Badger exchanged 'oh' looks before turning to look back up at the hairy bear.

"Halyard is a rope and your to pull the one attached to that square thing we call a sail above your rock filled skulls," he continued.

Lohgun's group shuffled their feet this time and slowly started bending over.

"Now MOVE!" Jorah roared, "or you'll beach on that sand bar!"

"Wished the prick'd stayed on his worthless island," the Greatjon muttered, yanking so hard on the hemp rope it nearly burned as it passed through the hands of the rest of the crew.


	21. FORWARD 2 - Scene 3

Robb ignored the hulking presence of the Mountain and directed his simple, terse response to the Old Lion, "Who?"

"Does it matter?" Tywin Lannister answered coolly, holding Robb's blue eyes with his own green ones. "I captured over a thousand of your banners; Dustins, Ryswells, Freys, and Glovers. Did you really think to bluff me boy?"

Robb fought hard to keep from squirming, but couldn't stop himself from shifting ever so slightly in his saddle.

The Lord of Casterly Rock smiled without a trace of kindness, " You are Eddard Stark's son. Slaying a captive would not be … honorable," and the contempt he placed on the last word sizzled. "Whereas I, on the other hand, ..." and the Old Lion simply left the answer unsaid.

"He's bluffing," Edmure blurted out, not being able to restrain himself any longer. "Such an act would curse your family forever!"

"Would it? Aegon the Conqueror's dragons burned tens of thousands in making him King; and the Targaryens ruled for three centuries. My grandson is already King. What price is a thousand, if it ensures Lions remain on the Iron Throne?"

Robb gritted his teeth, "Then what do you propose?"

"On the morrow, you attack me." Tywin Lannister gestured toward the fortifications on the south shore. "And my banners won't even hide like worms in the earth."

Robb's knee twitched while he contemplated the offer. He swallowed, adam's apple bobbing. "No," he rasped. "I see no thousand prisoners before me. I see Lannister banners a horse. I see two hooded men who could be anyone. No."

"Tyrion!" the Old Lion called to his son.

"Bronn," the halfman muttered, and the hard looking guard with Tyrion reached over and lifted the hood off the man to his right.

"Willam!" Lohgun shouted in anguish. Bandages were wrapped around his friend's head and over his eyes.

"Hey boyo," Lord Dustin called back. "Stand firm, you got the bastards where …" Smack. The guard clobbered Willam in the head, causing the injured man to moan and reel dangerously.

Snickt!

"What happened to him!" the Badger snarled, kicking his horse forward; a clawed fist raised high.

The Mountain matched the wildling's sudden movement, spurring himself in front of his liege lord to loom over the wildling. "He lost his eyes," the behemoth hissed while easily drawing six feet of steel from his scabbard with only one hand.

"Lohgun! Honor the parley!" Robb snapped, causing the Badger to jerk hard on his reins and turn back into line. When he at last looked back up, Lohgun burned to find saw an arrogant smile on the Lannister's face. And behind the gold shitting bastard the other hooded had been unveiled to reveal Robett Glover with the guard holding a dagger to his throat.

"Attack me," the Old Lion repeated placidly.

Robb first turned back to the Greatjon.

"Fuck'em. Let's skewer the buggers now," he proclaimed loudly.

Robb's questioning look turned next to Roose Bolton. The pale man shook his head 'no.'

"Others take them," Rickard Karstark cursed.

"Do it!" Edmure snapped.

Tytos Blackwood and the Blackfish both uttered quiet "Nos."

Lastly Robb's sad eyes rested on Lohgun. And the Lord of Tumbledown Tower knew his young liege had already made up his mind. The Badger clenched both fists in rage. "Give me vengeance, my lord," he begged, raising his claws again. "Let me tear their hearts out."

"I'll rip your head off little man and shit down your worthless, wildling neck," the Mountain chortled evilly.

"Gregor," the Old Lion admonished.

Robb blinked. "No," he whispered softly.

Surprise flitted across Tywin Lannister's face. "What?" he asked.

"I said 'No!'" Robb declared with all the cold of the North. "Because if you do this thing, when I win, and I will win, I will remember your Lannister justice. And 'The Rains of Castamere,' the doom of Elia Martell, and the fates of Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen will be visited upon your house, to the last branch and root."

The Lord of Casterly Rock did not take well to threats. "Sobeit," he replied icily. "The parley is over," and he tugged at his reins to turn his horse about.

"But you may take your son," Robb answered.

"What?!" everyone in earshot shouted. The Old Lion jerked his mount to a halt.

"That is," the young lord continued with a smirk, "if your champion can defeat my champion."

Tywin Lannister rubbed his hands together. "To the death?"

"Of course."

"Where? Here?"

"Yes. Right now, in the water; no horses, weapons only."

The Old Lion pursed his lips. "And if your champion wins?"

"We take Lords Dustin and Glover," he declared in a tone that said, 'isn't it obvious.'

Tywin Lannister sat still for a minute, contemplating the possible consequences, "Very well, I accept." Both Addam Marbrand and the Strongboar immediately barked requests to be appointed champion. "No. Gregor."

The giant dismounted, took the huge shield off the back of his horse, and drew his very long, very heavy sword. Tywin Lannister and the other Westerland lords withdrew to where Tyrion waited with Willam and Robett.

"This is foolish, milord," Roose counciled.

The Blackfish agreed, "If we lose the Kingslayer, the Lion might believe he can really get away with killing the prisoners."

"Somebody come babysit stumps here, so I can go kill the great ox" the Greatjon called.

"If the Mountain wins, the men will lose heart," Tytos complained.

"We should just launch an attack," Edmure whined.

"Silence," Robbed snapped at the lot of them, mirroring his father's command voice. The lords quieted, except for the Kingslayer who continued muttering his mantra of, "Hellfire, Hellfire," and looked expectantly at Robb. "The Badger will kill the Mountain."

"Bollocks!" the Greatjon swore. "The river don't even come up to my cock. The little man'll drown when he dismounts."

"The water will take away Lohgun's biggest advantage, his speed," the Blackfish warned.

With great assurance, the Lord of Winterfell announced, "The man who killed the Sword of Morning can dispatch that … thing. What say you, Badger?"

The song of death had started fluttering through his soul, exciting him, stoking the fires of his hate and anger. "Dying time," he said, hopping out of the saddle. Splash. Swish, swish. Two curved blades appeared in his hands. "The Mountain will bleed." And with that the Badger started off toward his foe.

Seeing the little man coming at him, Gregor Clegane returned the favor, big blade at the ready. At eight feet, the sword lashed out right to left, from high to low. The Badger ducked left and smacked the back of the passing blade with his katana. Lohgun kept moving to his left, Clegane's right, pushing closer, trying to within the big man's sword arc.

The Mountain planted his foot on the sandy bottom of the ford and pivoted in place to keep the much smaller man in front of him. The katana in Lohgun's right hand slashed out lightning quick, one, twice, thrice scrapping some colorful enamel covering off Clegane's thick plate mail. The Badger's ear heard the whistle of a backhanded blow cutting through the air, he dropped to one knee, water coming up to his chest. The sword just missed hitting the top of his helm. The smaller wakizashi sliced out, aiming for the join between gauntlet and forearm guard. Clang.

The behemoth didn't even grunt. The Winterfell forged blade hardly bit into the armor. Clegane followed up his own strike by swinging round his shield and clipping Lohgun in the shoulder, staggering him backward. The Mountain splashed forward, effortlessly twirling the longsword over his great helm for a downward strike. The wildling whirlwinded himself even further backward, just enough; the very tip of Clegane's blade causing sparks as it sheared through several steel rings of the Badger's hauberk.

The Badger plopped arse first into the shallow waters of the Ruby Ford. The Mountain's momentum rumbled him forward, unstoppable, but now too close to easily swing his blade again. So the eight foot tall monster simply punched straight out with it, the cross hilt catching the side of the Badger's T-faced helm. "Hunh!" Lohgun moaned.

Clegane walloped him again with the shield. Smash! The Badger tumbled over, completely submerging for a second beneath the Trident before bobbing back up, swordless and sputtering water out of mouth and nose. The Mountain loomed over him, shield and sword raised high in triumph, roaring, "Ain't nothing, ain't nobody, can beat me!"

Snickt! Snickt!

"Bleed," the wildling snarled. The three metal laced claws of the Badger's left fist drove into and through the armored joint of the monster's right knee. The cry of victory turned to a howl of pain. The Mountain's sword fell like an axe, bursting apart the back of Lohgun's mailed shirt, cracking ribs, crushing organs; blood, like ruby colored jewels, sprayed into the Trident.

The Badger punched out with the mismatched claws of his right hand, piercing through the steel cowter protecting the elbow of the giant's sword arm. Reflexively the Mountain's hand opened and he dropped his sword. "Gods damn you!" the injured Lannister pawn bellowed. Clegane shook his arm to dislodge the painful claws and hammered the shield on the Badger's thick skull.

Stars and spots and colors swirled in front of Lohgun's eyes, obscuring most of the massive foe from his vision. But he knew the man was close, deadly close. As the Mountain shifted and twisted, the Badger felt his claws slide out from the beast's knee. 'up. up. up.' He told himself. He slung his left arm nearly straight up.

"Guuuwaaaahhhhhh!" Clegane shrieked, bass voice raising to a soprano.

Blood and piss from the monster's groin dribbled down the wildling's arm. Then a mountain fell on top of him, burying him beneath the waters of the Trident.

An enormous weight held him down as he held his breath, shifting and wiggling to get away from the millstone crushing him. Lohgun could barely see light peaking around the edges of the heavy, heavy load shackling him to the sand and pebble strewn floor. Parts of the mountain still quaked and rumbled at him. Lungs burning, he got one knee firmly planted beneath himself and heaved, heaved, heaved.

Air. Sweet air.

His lower back felt torn off.

He wobbled to his feet. Clegane rested on the bottom.

The Badger kicked futilely at the mass. "Fucker," he spit feebly at the fallen foe. He looked around, stunned. The entire south bank thundered with cheers. "Joy," he muttered.

A huge, gauntleted hand grabbed his thigh and yanked him back into the water. Another huge fist started pounding him right in his bloody, ugly flap of torn flesh.

"DIEEEEEEEEE!" the Badger cried. Claws. 'Adamantium. Yes, adamantium,' he thought, sheathed claws struck out again and again and again into the impossibly broad chest beneath him, shredding the Mountain's heart until it could beat no more.


	22. BACK 3 - Scene 3

The raven's news surged through Seagard like a torrent and promptly spilled over the walls into the camp of two thousand northerners: the longships of the Ironborn had been smashed off Fair Island by the combined might of the Royal and Redwyne fleets. Eddard Stark and his top lieutenants immediately stopped the day's training; granting their ebullient men a day to celebrate in Seagard's taverns, potshops, and whorehouses, while they rushed off for Lord Jason's Keep to hear the full message brought in on black wings.

"That didn't take you long, did it, Ned?" the Mallister lord said, happily swirling a cup of wine in one hand, boots resting atop the ironwood desk of his solarium, broad shoulders jauntily tipping his chair backward. "Kraig!" he called loudly for his steward. "More glasses! Lord Eddard has brought friends."

"It's true then? The Iron Fleet is sunk?" Ned asked.

"Oh not all of it," Lord Jason replied with a saucy grin that damped the usual fierceness of his eyes, "but enough to send the Greyjoy brothers scurrying back to Pyke."

"Wooo-Hooo!" the northerners cheered.

Mal," Jason Mallister directed his squire, "there's still a spare goblet, pour a cupful for his lordship here," and he pointed his own mug at Ned.

The teen dutifully picked up the flagon and poured half a glass, until spotting the first of the dregs. "Uhm, my lord?" young Malcom Mallister pronounced, swishing the remnants about inside the near empty jug.

"Kraig!" Lord Jason cried again. "Another …" and his eyes flitted about the room quickly counting the number of Northern and Riverland lordlings present, "six bottles too!"

The voices of the half a dozen Mallister deputies already in the room joined in the loud applause of their northern guests for their lord's largesse.

Knowing of Robert's impatience to grapple with a foe better than anyone, Ned asked, "Did the message give any notion on when the King will take the fight to the Krakens?"

Lord Jason's cheery grin turned fiercer and plucked a slight, rolled piece of parchment from the breast pocket of his tunic. "Lord Stannis seems a most efficient fellow; he took ravens aboard with him. This he sent from off his Fury the day after the sea battle." The Mallister lord tossed the small bundle on to the table next to where Ned stood.

Lohgun's liege picked it up, unrolled the message, and read it half a loud.

_May the Twenty Seventh, Year 289 After Landing._

_Flagship Fury._

_Off the northwest Coast of Fair Isle._

_To the Lord Mallister,_

_Victory. Forty seven longships sunk and thirty three captured yesterday at the cost of only twenty six war galleys. The Iron Fleet and longships of the other Iron Lords are scattered and fleeing north. Aeron Greyjoy now a prisoner. The warships of the Arbor acted as the anvil to the Royal Fleet's hammer._

_The Royal Fleet shall pursue and blockade the rebels in their ports._

_Paxter Redwyne ordered to clear Ironman's Bay and bring transports to Seagard. Look for them, barring a storm, in no less than ten, but no more than fourteen days. The King expects to see your and Lord Stark's banners off of Pyke in a month where you will be granted the privilege of assisting his Grace in rendering justice upon House Greyjoy._

_All Duties faithfully performed in the name of King Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name._

_By Lord Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships._

"Well they sliced a tentacle or two off the Kraken," Ned said with a big grin.

"Didn't they, though," Lord Jason agreed enthusiastically. "And soon will have a chance to stab it in its inky black eye!"

'Still sounds like a dour turd, that Stannis,' the wildling thought, remembering through the haze of years the tall, gaunt, taciturn young man he'd briefly met in a brightly colored pavilion beneath the towering grey walls of Storm's End. 'But still very effective,' he grudgingly admitted.

"Wine!" the Greatjon called as the mousy steward led a minor contingent of buxom servers into the solar.

"Frails!" came the Badger's automatic rejoinder to his very big friend.

Ned laughed and slapped Lohgun on the shoulder. "Do you ever not think with your cock, my friend? I swear you're near as bad as I remember Robert was."

What cheer the short man felt for the coming battle drained away, though he kept a false grin plastered to his face, not wanting to reveal the depths of his turmoil to Ned. 'You have no idea, no idea,' Lohgun thought.

* * *

Two days earlier fifty Redwyne battle vessels had chased the covering force of rebel longships out of Ironman's Bay to grant some thirty odd transports the right the next day to jockey for the limited moorings at Seagard's still incomplete docks. The thin, stooped, dyspeptic Lord Paxter had himself finally come ashore this morning to scold Northerner and Riverlander alike on the criminal inadequacy of the harbor's berths, as though the Greyjoys' depredations had not created the problem in the first place, and to disparage everyone on their lack of preparedness. In reality, from the get go the four functioning piers were jam packed with overly eager lordlings, knights, and warriors trying to swarm aboard any ship that appeared to offer a modicum of space; while paying no heed whatsoever to the directions futilely screamed by the jury rigged port's understaffed and overburdened Harbormaster. And none of that even addressed the mountain of supplies necessary to sustain three thousand men for several months all sitting on the beach; nor the number of fools insisting on bringing along their horse, 'the cleverest little charger' or 'strongest steed you ever did see,' for a sea campaign.

After enduring Lord Paxter over a small dinner for three hosted in Lord Jason's private apartments, an ice cold angry Ned had returned after dark to the North's encampment and summarily summoned his top deputies: Manderly, Umber, Cerwyn, Mormont, Tallhart, Stout, Flint, Brooke, Whitehill, Locke, Forrester, and Badger. Lohgun, upon entering the large tent erected beneath the Direwolf banner, immediately noted the storm dancing in Ned's eyes; the best window to his friend's moods, for his well-schooled, lordly mien seldom betrayed the vigor of his feelings.

Rodrik and the Greatjon noisily came in together, the scent of ale heavy upon them. The pair happily shouted out "Bear" and "Badger" upon spying their friends and wove their way over, oblivious to the cool gaze Ned cast upon them. When his friend from the Bite started to open his mouth, the wildling stepped hard on his toes. "Ouch, why'd you … ?" The Badger stepped down even harder, causing his gregarious comrade to squeak loud enough to gain even the Greatjon's diminished attention. Both Lohgun and Jorah shook their heads toward Ned. "Ohhhh," grunted the big man.

"Sers, if none of you realized it, today was a shambles. A giant, steaming pile of Auroch manure," the Lord of Winterfell chastised his lieutenants. "Barely a quarter of our men got boarded and none of the bloody supplies! How are we to come to the aid of our King if we can't organize ourselves any better than a stoat in heat?"

Rodrik started to snicker until he felt the sharp pressure of Lohgun's boot again.

"Since the North has the most men, Lord Jason and Lord Redwyne have assigned us the two most southerly piers to load our men," Ned continued sharply. "The next pier up will be for supplies only. The north pier will be used for the Mallisters and the few Freys here to use. Greatjon. Jorah. An hour before dawn you will station yourselves at the start of the far dock. No one gets close to a boat unless they're with their fellow banners. Badger, you'll be with me at the next dock doing the same. Medgur. Marlon. You shall be at the supply dock. Understood?"

All five men nodded vigorously.

Ned nodded back. "Everyone else, have your men lined up … in orderly fashion at dawn. Figure it out tonight what order you'll go in. No more than one chest per man. Oh, and no horses!"

Several grumbled loudly at that last pronouncement, until Ned's stony glare shushed them.

"I'll post a list in an hour as to who gets to bring a horse. I warn you, the list will be short."

"Pardon, my lord," Medrick Whitehill interrupted. "Not that I don't trust the Mallisters, but seems we'll be leaving a lot behind now, won't we?" he complained. "How do we know it'll stay safe?"

Ned's lips turned a thin smile. "Because you and yours will stay in Seagard to guard it," he answered coolly.

The air surged through the the tent as everyone inhaled in stunned amazement at their lord's seemingly arbitrary decision to deny one of their number the honor of battle. Medrick's face turned red, then purple in rage, but he remembered to whom he owed his station and kept his mouth shut.

"Any more questions?" the Lord of Winterfell asked without a hint of emotion.

A chorus of "No, my lords," filled the tent.

"See to your duties then." And everyone was dismissed.

* * *

The morning had gone well. The sun, just past its zenith shone down on loaded ships pushing away from the dock and others hauling up their anchors in order to take up the soon to be freed space. A hundred men jockeyed on the southernmost pier to board the tied up cogs still taking passengers. Only a few hundred men remained, not too impatiently, in front of Ned and Lohgun where they stood at the point wood planks met stone and sand.

Splash!

"There goes another," the wildling muttered. "Twenty seven," he called out.

Ned chuckled. "Are you sure?"

"Ayup," Lohgun answered nonchalantly.

"He might have fallen from the other dock," his friend countered. "Care to wager a copper on it?"

The Badger tilted his head toward Ned and raised up his eyes to give the Lord of Winterfell the dubious look that arrogantly proclaimed, 'Really? You're doubting _me_?' After a long moment he added with a whiff of mockery, "Take a gander then, bub. Your copper."

Ned simply chuckled more, but never turned around, for his eyes narrowed to look at something in the distance. Lohgun followed his friend's gaze and saw a horseman wearing the grey colors of Winterfell riding down the beach from the direction of Seagard's Shore Gate. "Who is it?" Ned asks.

"You trust my eyes, but not my ears?" the wildling growled with mock anger. "It's … six toes."

Ned blinked in surprise. "What's so important Cat would send a rider all the way from Winterfell, but not important enough to send by raven?" he pondered.

"Let's find out," the Badger declared then stuck two fingers in his mouth to blast a whistle that cut through the noise of the wind, the seas, and the docks.

The messengers head snapped over and soon spotted his liege. He spurred his horse to a trot. Upon arriving he snapped a salute while saying, "My lord."

"Edwyn, You're a long way from Winterfell. Is all well?" Ned asked, hiding any concern or eagerness. Lohgun simply stared at the oversized boots the rider wore, trying to imagine what it would feel like to walk with six toes on each foot.

"All is fine, my lord. Your lady wife tasked me to deliver you a message." The rider snapped open a leather pouch tied to his saddle and reached in to pull out a sealed parchment. "Right glad I arrived soon enough, or I'd have been looking for a boat to chase after you," he said with what sounded like a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Edwyn." And Ned in accepting the missive handed over a small purse of coins. "Enjoy a few days rest in Seagard before heading back. If this is important, I'll have a message for you to take back." Ned tore a thumbnail through the direwolf sigil of the wax and unfolded the paper. His eyes widened in surprise.

"What news?" Lohgun asked.

"I'm going to be a father again!" Ned yelled through a smile so large it threatened to cut his head in half. "Cat's pregnant!"

"HUZZAAHHHHHH!" erupted out of the throats of every man within listening distance. Men pushed forward and hands reached out to pound their liege lord on back and shoulder, moving Lohgun way from his friend.

The Badger rubbed a hand over his mouth and bushy, unkempt beard. "Shit. I'm Gods damned," he whispered to himself, horrified at the possibilities.


End file.
